


After the End

by a_forgotten_note



Category: Sanders Sides, Thomas Sanders
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, apocalypse au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-13
Updated: 2019-07-25
Packaged: 2019-08-23 06:15:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 43,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16613492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_forgotten_note/pseuds/a_forgotten_note
Summary: The world is out of balance with the newest biological weapons being created and put on the market. With economic strains and peace treaties weighing too heavy on the tables, it shouldn't be a surprise when it all comes falling down.Without shelter and safety, Roman and his friends are caught on the edge of the world, surrounded by the results of a biochemical mishap.Horror movies prepared them for what they'd see... but not what they'd have to sacrifice.





	1. Roman's Letter

                My name is Roman Mend. I am thirty-four years old, married, and currently in good health. This journal is what’s left of my memory of the time before the infection.

                To be perfectly honest, I don’t remember everything all that well. The vaccine has pushed all of the symptoms of the infection to the brink… but even now, as I write, I know that I’m falling apart. All of the people who breathed in those toxins… we’re falling to pieces. Even my husband, Logan, is starting to lapse in judgement… simple, little things. But enough that I notice them.

                My name _used_ to be Roman Prince. All those years ago… before Logan. I realize it may be hypocritical. Thirty-four years, on the grand scale of life, is not very long. But with the way I’m going… I wonder if… no, I _hope_ I make it to fifty.

                We were fresh out of college. Barely able to breathe we were so eager to live our lives. I wasn’t in a rush to find a career… I simply wanted to be with Logan. A headless, feverish kind of desire that can only be described as ‘reckless’ by my own standards. We were carefree. Excited. Logan had dreams… dreams of curing cancer, Alzheimer’s, and others. I wanted to support him. To be his rock through all of his chemical, creational experiments.

                My name _was_ Roman Price. All those years ago… before the infection. I was… dramatic, as I have been told. The memories are blurred. Vague and slow-coming now. I don’t remember the first half of my own childhood anymore. But I remember the state of our world, all those years ago. A state of affairs that left every country in the world on their tiptoes, barely able to contain themselves now that the art of biochemical warfare had been realized… and perfected.

                I… I _was_ Roman Prince. Before the change. Before _I_ changed. I need to write this… to leave some sort of memoire. A recording of what I know _while_ I know it. Before it fades into the bleeding gray of ‘The Time Before’ I was exposed to the infection.

                I don’t know what will happen to me. Nor do I know what will happen to those who were exposed to the first-hand strain of the virus. Perhaps they’ll expire faster. Perhaps their bodies will be more resilient. If Logan were… if he were still _himself_ , I’m sure he’d be fighting to find the answers.

                For now, this is all I can do. All I can provide for the people that come after us. For the people who never had to experience the infection. For the children who look back and wonder: ‘How did they stay alive?’

                To you, this is my answer. This is my story. This… is my confession.


	2. The Haze

                “ _I’ve learned, over my limited years as an infection-free man, to bite my tongue in the presence of those less-fortunate. I will never know the horror that they’ve endured. Nor do I ever wish to.”_

_\- Roman Mend_

+++++

                If there was ever a sign that the toxin was going to be released, Roman hadn’t seen it. The skies were clear of clouds, just an endless stretch of baby blue as far as the eye could see. He walked hand-in-hand with Logan, listening to his concepts for his dissertation.

                “There are so many _possibilities_ ,” Logan rambled as he waved his empty hand in the air. Roman nodded and smiled, swinging their joined hands as they approached the dorms. Logan fidgeted with his glasses. “If I could get funding… _and_ the right kind of equipment, I could make more progress than just writing theoretical papers.”

                When the screech of car tires on asphalt caught his attention, Roman glanced over his shoulder at the street. A crowd had gathered at the edge of the street. Sirens were wailing as police started to block off the street. Roman’s brow furrowed in confusion; it was a small intersection. How bad could the accident have been? He didn’t think to turn around as they entered the dormitory.

                And that’s when it hit.

                An explosion cracked through the air. The shockwave came milliseconds later, knocking the oxygen out of Roman’s lungs as he hit the ground face-first. Like a 7.0 earthquake, the ground buckled and the walls rattled, lights were blinding and sounds were too loud and close. Roman could only curl himself around Logan and press them to the ground, waiting out… whatever it was.

                It couldn’t have been an earthquake… could it? They were too far from any big fault lines. At least, any fault lines Roman _knew_ of… so what was this? A bomb? A missile? The start of World War 3? All likely possibilities. The world had been… uneasy since several countries had made leaps and bounds with biochemical engineering and testing.

                The cement structure of the building made a loud, groaning _crack_ as shockwaves rang through the air. Roman pressed himself into Logan, unable to stave off the shudder of terror as dust from the cracked loadbearing structure of the dorms shifted and grated against one another.

                Then, all at once… everything stopped.

                The piercing shriek of stone against stone was silenced. The tremors of the explosion – or whatever it was – shook its way out from the epicenter, leaving Logan and Roman clinging to each other on the floor. Debris from the broken walls and ceiling fluttered down through the air, dusting the top of Roman’s hair as he slowly, carefully lifted his eyes.

                The dorms were a mess. Pieces of the walls had cracked and fallen to the ground. The board with all of the college club activities was on the ground, and all the flyers it contained had scattered to the wind. Outside, the drone of a police siren was warbled and out of shape. As if the police car itself had been thrown off-balance by the explosion.

                “What… what was that?” Logan pushed himself up on shaky hands as he adjusted his glasses. The frames were broken from the fall, and the right lens was nearly cracked in half. Roman swallowed thickly as he helped Logan to his feet. They stared at each other for a moment, neither one willing to admit that they were in the middle of this unexpected, dystopian occurrence. Logan, of course, spoke first. “We… we need to get out of here. Find proper shelter. If another wave hits…” he looked up at the shaky structure of the building, his words trailing off uncomfortably.

                Roman rubbed his bicep anxiously as he nodded. “Y-yeah… good idea, Specs. Let’s…” He paused, scrambling to dig his phone out of his pocket. “We should… we should call someone, shouldn’t we?”

                Logan arched an eyebrow. “Whom are you suggesting we call?”

                “ _Someone_ ,” Roman insisted as he pecked at his phone. “I mean… who knows? We hit the ground pretty hard. We could’ve hit our heads. We should see a doctor or –”

                “Or a nurse?” Logan asked, his voice hardly a whisper. Roman glanced up to see Logan looking at him with wide, worried eyes. “Patton and Virgil. Call one of them.”

                Roman scrambled to call their other dormmates. Patton, a good nursing student through-and-through, _should_ have been in class… but what if he wasn’t? What if he’d dragged Virgil out of the dorms for a romantic walk? What if they’d been outside when the shockwaves hit? Roman froze. What if they’d been near the intersection? What if _they_ were the ones caught in the accident?

                “—man. Roman!” Logan’s voice cut through Roman’s thoughts, and Roman startled when Logan plucked his phone straight from his hand. “For god’s sake, just dial the damn number…”

                Trying to soothe his fragile ego and ignore his momentary panic, Roman rolled his eyes. “Bossy, bossy, bossy… you’re lucky you’re so good in bed.”

                “ _You_ are lucky I’m so good in bed,” Logan corrected as he held the phone to his ear. After a few seconds of tapping his foot and looking like a man about to lose his mind, he flinched and held the phone closer to his ear. “Patton? It’s Logan. Yes… yes, we felt it. I’m fairly sure the entire _city_ felt it… no, I don’t know what it was.” He gave Roman a tense look, and Roman shrugged helplessly. “Where are you?” He paused, heaved a world-weary sigh, and pointed up.

                Roman grimaced; they were up in the dorm? They were lucky the floor didn’t fall in. Or the ceiling, for that matter. Unless it did… perhaps they were stuck. Trapped under the rubble. Roman wrung his hands restlessly as he waited for some kind of confirmation or denial of the possibilities. Logan was nodding and grumbling about provisions and first-aid kits.

                Roman bounced from foot to foot. They needed to move. They needed to _act_. Whatever this was… it wasn’t benign. No one would send a missile… bomb… or some other explosive for peaceful reasons. This was an attack, and even if they’d survived the first wave, there was still a possibility for something _else_ to go wrong.

                When Logan hung up the phone, he glanced toward the elevator. Roman promptly shook his head. “After all that… I don’t think we should chance the elevators.”

                Logan gave him a sharp look over the edge of his glasses, irritation clear in his eyes as he started stomping toward the stairs. “I was debating the pros and cons of the _stairs,_ Roman… they might give out beneath our feet.”

                Roman huffed, but followed Logan up the stairs. Dust and debris filtered down through the air, coating Logan’s dark brown hair in a layer of silver as he cautiously took one step at a time. Roman held the banister, ready to catch him should something go wrong. It was quiet. The kind of quiet that made Roman’s skin itch and heart pound anxiously. He wasn’t good with silence… Logan knew that. It was probably why he spoke next.

                “What do you think that was?”

                Roman gave him an odd look. “Huh?”

                “The explosion,” Logan said simply as he reached the second floor. He stomped his foot on the ground a few times, testing its strength… only to step back with the floorboards groaned uneasily. They edged along the wall, carefully making their way to the third floor as Logan murmured, “Do you think it was a bomb?”

                Flinching away from the suggestion, Roman hesitated to answer. It _could_ have been a bomb… international-relation strains were at an all-time high. No one was comfortable with things… and with biological warfare being fair game, it was anyone’s guess who attacked them… or _what_ they used. A bomb? A biochemical weapon? An agent of the goddamn apocalypse?

                “I don’t know,” Roman finally answered as they breeched the third-floor landing. “I don’t know… if it was a bomb, wouldn’t we be dead?”

                Logan sighed and slowly walked toward the door of their dorm, careful of the cracks in the floor and the shaky way the boards trembled under his weight. “Not necessarily… we could be on the edge of the explosion… experiencing aftershocks, and such.”

                Humming thoughtfully, Roman glanced at the hall window, seeing a yellow-orange mist that hung over the cityscape beyond them. He frowned; was that just dust from the explosion… or something worse? He didn’t dare ask as Logan opened the door and stepped into their dorm.

                “Logan! Roman!” Patton’s voice was high-pitched and hysterical as he leapt forward and latched himself onto Logan as tight as he possibly could. “It was the scariest thing I’ve ever seen! The… the cracks in the ceiling! I thought it was gonna bury us!”

                Giving Patton’s back a tired, knowing pat, Logan rolled his eyes and nodded. “Yes, I know… but I’m glad the two of you are safe.”

                Inside the dorm, Virgil sat on the sofa, shoving a flashlight – along with a pack of batteries – into a backpack. Roman could already see several canned foods in the pack… it seemed Virgil was prepared. Roman shouldered his way into the dorm, carefully picking his way through the fallen bookshelves and broken dishes that littered the floor.

                Virgil and Patton had been lucky that the entertainment center hadn’t been knocked over. It would’ve crushed them. Still… the shattered windows and dusty apartment left little to the imagination… they were lucky to still be alive.

                Standing over the sofa where Virgil sat, Roman glanced into his bag. “Whatcha got there, Doctor Gloom?”

                “Supplies,” Virgil said flatly, his purple-dyed hair fanning forward and into his eyes as he pushed more and more into the backpack. “We can’t stay here… too dangerous.” He zipped the back shut, slung it over his shoulder with a chorus of metallic _clunks_ , and said, “We need to find help.”

                “Police!” Patton said abruptly, untangling himself from Logan and turning to Virgil with wide eyes. His glasses were askew, and his curly hair was a mess… but he looked determined and fired up as he repeated, “The police! They’ll… they’ll help us!”

                The room was quiet; it was a hopeful thought… the police coming to the rescue. But, what could city police do about an atomic bomb or biological weapon? Not much, that was for damn sure. Roman went to his and Logan’s room and grabbed another bag, taking a blanket and shoving it into the pack. Logan followed him, handing him other necessities… another flashlight, an old compass, a state map… Logan was keen on leaving the city, it seemed.

                “What the hell are we doing?” Roman asked, still shoving things into the bag.

                “We’re getting out of here,” Logan said as he handed Roman a pack of matches. “We need to find somewhere safe… this city is _definitely_ not safe.”

                Roman’s hands paused, and he gave Logan a long look. “If… if this is an attack on the U.S., then… is _anywhere_ safe?”

                Logan didn’t look up from his dresser has he handed Roman a sweater. “That doesn’t matter. We can’t just sit here and wait… don’t you hear how quiet it is out there?”

                Roman hesitated, glancing toward their window. The yellow mist had spread over the city in an even blanket, making the disembodied wailing of an unattended police-car sound even more ominous. There weren’t cries for help. No screaming in the streets… just the endlessly echoing drills of a police car, untouched by the officer that was supposed to man it.

                Slinging his bag over his shoulder, Roman took Logan’s hand and pulled him from the dresser.

                “Wha—Roman, we’ll need to have –”

                “Look at me,” Roman ordered, seeing the way Logan’s blue eyes faltered when he turned to look at him. “I don’t know what’s going on… this is like… like a bad dream… but, we need to stick together.”

                Logan blinked slowly. “Of… course we do. Why wouldn’t we?”

                Roman nodded, squeezing Logan’s hand as he pulled him from the bedroom and back into the living room. Patton was clinging to Virgil, his face pressed into the crook of Virgil’s neck as he covered his ears. The siren was getting to him… it wasn’t that surprising. There were alarms going off everywhere… car alarms, police sirens… if they didn’t get out soon, they’d all go crazy.

                Flexing his hand in Logan’s tight grip, Roman pasted an expression of surefire confidence onto his face as he said, “My car is in student lot… if we can get down there, we can get out of the city just fine.”

                And that was how they found themselves picking their way down the stairs of the dormitory, slow and careful as each step groaned unhappily beneath their weight. Logan was at the front of the group, with Virgil bringing up the rear. Patton was uncharacteristically quiet… he was obviously shaken.

                Trying to lighten the heavy mood in their little dystopian entourage, Roman glanced over his shoulder and gave Patton a smile. “So, Patty-cake… what were you two kids up to when the explosion hit?”

                Patton gave him a wide-eyed confused look, and Virgil gave Roman a knowing waggle of his eyebrows. Roman smirked. After a moment, Patton cleared his throat and continued down the stairs.

                “We were on the sofa…” Patton said slowly as he leaned against the wall and stepped around a fallen ceiling tile. “And when… when it happened, we were knocked off the couch and onto the floor.” He paused, then made a strange face. “Well, Virgil was knocked off. I was already on the floor.”

                Roman quirked an eyebrow, but didn’t dig into that any further. He didn’t need to know more about their sex-life than they already did. Instead, he turned to face forward, his steps coming to a shuddering halt as he looked down at the first floor.

                Logan had stopped just two steps from the landing, staring down at the yellow-orange mist that was slowly but surely seeping into the building through cracks in the windows. Roman hesitated, watching the thick, noxious-looking gas spread across the floor like a living thing seeking out new victims.

                “What the _hell_ is that stuff?” Virgil asked, staring down at the first floor with wide, terrified eyes. “Like… teargas or something?”

                “It’s not safe to assume it’s harmless,” Logan said as he pulled the collar of his shirt up and over his nose. He waved for the others to do the same. “Don’t breathe it in. The faster we get to the car, the better.”

                Roman obeyed; Logan was a genius. It would be stupid to ignore him at this point. Tugging the car keys out of his pocket, Roman took a deep breath of mist-free air, and dove down the stairs. He could feel Logan hot on his heels, following him easily. Patton and Virgil were another story… he could hear Virgil’s backpack _clank, clank, clanking_ as he ran to keep up. He wouldn’t leave Patton behind. They were all in this together.

                This wasn’t fun and games… this was real danger. And none of it was as romantic as the novels or TV shows made it seem. It was gritty and sobering… the abject, blatant threat of something worse than death hanging over them… good god, where _was_ everyone else? It wasn’t until they rounded the side of the dorms that Roman saw them.

                Bodies.

                Students, teachers… Roman didn’t know who they were. They were sprawled out on the ground. Some had made it to their cars, their doors still open wide and their car filled with orange gas. Had they suffocated? Roman didn’t stop for them. He didn’t have time. He didn’t want to fall… he didn’t want to die. Not like this.

                Patton, however, was a caretaker through-and-through. He dropped to his knees in front of the nearest person, turning them over on their back and checking their airway. It seemed that you could take the nurse out of the hospital, but not the hospital out of the nurse.

                “Sir!” Patton yelled, trying to get an answer from the lifeless body. “Sir, can you hear me?”

                Virgil was nearly dragging Patton across the asphalt, struggling to keep his mouth covered as he shouted, “Patton! He’s _dead_ , Patton! Cover your mouth! Don’t breathe in, don’t –”

                “No!” Patton screamed, “There’s still a chance!”

                While Patton furiously tried to perform CPR, Roman tripped and slammed into his car when he reached it. Tearing his eyes away from Patton, Roman stepped over another fallen student as he made his way to the driver-side door.

                His hands were shaking as he tried to unlock the car door. He couldn’t stop shaking… there were _so many_ bodies. So many people that hadn’t covered their mouths… or had they? Were they dead from the explosion? The gas? Both? Was it only a matter of time until they _all_ succumb to the gas?

                “Come on,” Roman growled as he twisted the key in the lock. It stuck, and his hands were shaking as he pulled at the door uselessly. “Come on!”

                The door latch _clicked,_ and Roman threw himself into the car, slamming it shut behind him to keep out as much of the gas as possible. After taking a deep breath of the stale air in his car, he hit the locks. Logan clambered into the passenger seat, slamming the door just as fast.

                After a few moments of panicked gasping, Logan gestured furiously to Patton and Virgil on the far side of the parking lot. “G-get them! They won’t be able to hold their breath forever!”

                With hands that fumbled wildly, Roman grit his teeth and struggled to shove the key into the ignition. He just couldn’t stop _shaking_. Fear? Adrenaline? The sheer will to stay alive and see what all of this was? Whatever this feeling was, it gave him enough sense to start the car and put it into drive.

                He hit the gas with more force than was necessary, hurtling them across the parking lot fast enough for Logan to brace his hands against the side of the car anxiously. The car lurched when they ran over a dead campus police guard, and Roman winced at the wild rocking of the car that followed.

                Just a little closer, and they could all drag Patton into the car if need be. He was still trying to resuscitate the man on the ground, but it was clear he was starting to give up. His compressions weren’t strong enough, and Roman swore he could see tears streaming down his cheeks as he worked.

                Virgil saw them coming, and when the headlights hit them through the fog, he forcefully pulled Patton to his feet. The car _screeched_ as Roman hit the brakes and unlocked the doors, and Virgil was ready for it. He threw open the back door and shoved Patton inside, quickly following behind as he shut the door and took deep, desperate gulps of clean air.

                Roman wouldn’t be surprised if they’d breathed in a bit of that noxious air… but they didn’t seem affected by it. At least, not yet, anyway.

                “Phew!” Roman laughed hysterically as he clutched the steering wheel. Logan gave him a perturbed look, and Roman simply laughed again. “We made it!”

                “All th-those people…” Patton sputtered. Roman glanced in the rearview mirror, watching the way Patton trembled in the backseat, his eyes wide with horror. “They were dead. They were… they’re all dead.”

                No one said anything. Even Virgil, with his vast knowledge of how to calm Patton, didn’t speak. He simply pulled Patton into an awkward, sideways embrace.

                Not wasting time, Logan grabbed Roman’s backpack and pulled out the map of the state. Unfolding it carefully, he pointed along the interstate. Roman saw the tremble in his hands. He was scared. They all were. Roman didn’t say anything about it.

                Logan muttered, “We’re close to Eastern coast… if we move toward the coastline, then we can find shelter with clean air.” He licked his lips shakily before adjusting his glasses. He looked to Roman with a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes before he said, “And hopefully… someone who can help us.”

                With the rush of survival slowly fading, Roman carefully steered the car out of the lot. More bodies littered the streets, though the vast majority of them had remained on the sidewalks. They hadn’t gotten the chance to run. He swerved to avoid a woman lying in the middle of the street, her arms still outstretched and reaching for someone on the other side of the road. Roman grimaced and squinted to see through the yellow fog.

                It seemed to go on forever, this yellow, opaque mist. It stretched beyond the city and into the suburbs, hanging over the front porches of houses that were clearly shaken by the explosion. An hour of driving passed, and still… the sky was heavy with gray clouds… and the ground was blanketed by the yellow smoke.

                Roman kept driving, glancing at the half-full tank of gas while Logan instructed him to take certain turns to get onto the freeway. Cars were lined up along the highway, windows shattered by the blast and occupants sitting dead in their seats. Roman was lucky his windows hadn’t broken… a sheer twist of luck, it would seem.

                The longer they drove, my more hysterical Patton became. He wept at the sight of people in the streets, the destruction of totaled cars, and the endless wail of the unattended police sirens. In the end, he didn’t even dare look out the windows. He simply turned his face into Virgil’s shoulder, clinging to him and whimpering as the car hummed and made its way along the interstate.

                It was a slow process, picking through the stalled cars and unfortunate accidents. The farther they went, the greater the destruction became. Almost like the blast had come from beyond the city.

                “I’m starting to think you were right,” Roman said as he slowed down to avoid hitting an overturned semitruck. Logan didn’t look up from the map.

                “Of course I was,” Logan muttered thoughtlessly. After a moment, he lifted his eyes and adjusted his glasses. “Right about what?”

                “We were on the outside of the explosion,” Roman said softly, eyeing the skeleton of a small car burning on an exit ramp. He gripped the steering wheel tightly and glanced at the backseat. Patton had fallen asleep on Virgil’s shoulder, his face still streaked with tears. Virgil didn’t say anything as he watched the ruined city quietly. Roman frowned. “We were just the aftershock… I can only imagine…”

                “How bad the real destruction is?” Logan said, his voice soft and frightened. Roman gave him a sidelong glance; Logan was not one to fall prey to petty, worrying emotions. He was levelheaded and composed, even in the most difficult situations. It was one of the things Roman loved about him… any yet, he looked utterly shaken in the aftermath of this explosion.

                Reaching across the seats, Roman took Logan’s hand and squeezed it. “Hey,” he said softly, drawing Logan’s attention away from the smoldering remnants of a car accident. “At least we’ve got each other.”

                Logan smiled a little, but he didn’t say anything. They held each others’ hand as they exited the suburban landscape. Houses became less frequent… and so did cars on the road. Every now and then, Roman could see a car that had veered off the road and into the ditch. Whoever had been inside was nowhere to be seen.

                After another hour, trees became more frequent than houses… but even then, the mist was thick and heavy as it covered the ground. Roman frowned; the longer they drove, the more clean air was used up in the car. It was only a matter of time until they had to open the car vents and let in new air. But it was a catch twenty-two… they could open the car vents to get air, and they’d suffocate on the gas. Even if they _didn’t_ open up the car vents, they’d eventually have to pull over and stop for the night. Then, the gas would inevitably find a way in.

                And so, Roman continued to drive in uncomfortable quiet. A few times, he tried to turn on the radio, but the signal was scrambled. The radio towers were out. Conversation wasn’t really possible… Virgil wasn’t in any mood to talk. Logan was too tense to comply with small talk. It was an uncomfortable drive for hours on end. If the apocalypse was Roman’s worst nightmare, then dead silence was his second-worst.

                They drove until trees were the only thing they could see into the distance. Just endless, shadowy shapes of oak and maple as far as they dared to look into the fog. The sun slowly started to sink, already tired from the lateness of the day. Roman swallowed thickly; he didn’t want to stop for the night. Not when the yellow-orange gas was still heavy on the ground.

                Roman was just about to ask what they should do when it goes dark… when he saw a shape in the road. He squinted, leaning forward against the steering wheel to glare at the odd silhouette.

                “What _is_ that?” He asked aloud.

Next to him, Logan startled out of his daydreaming, and he glanced toward the road in confusion. “What’s… what? I can’t see anything.”

                “Slow down,” Virgil ordered. He’d leaned forward between the front seats and was staring out the windshield with intensity. “It… it looks like a person.”

                Slowly pressing down on the brake, Roman let the headlights wash over the stranger that was making their way down the middle of the road. Roman’s heart leapt up to his throat; another person. Trapped in this hellscape, just like them… but, how were they up and walking around in the yellow gas? How were they not suffocating? He let the car roll forward lazily, watching the person approach at a slow, stumbling, shambling pace.

                Abruptly, Logan grabbed his arm and said, “Don’t stop.”

                “What?” Roman gave him a baffled look. “This person could need our help, Logan. I’m not just going to drive past them without –”

                Logan turned in his seat to give Roman a wide-eyed, desperate look. “Roman, if you love me, you won’t stop this car.”

                Hesitating, Roman glanced at the person outside. They were still staggering their way toward the car, only a few dozen feet away. He turned back to Logan. “I _do_ love you,” he promised.

                And then he put the car into park.

                Virgil gave Logan a half-interested look before watching the stranger approach. Once they were within ten feet of the car, Virgil leaned back and whispered a breathless profanity. Roman frowned. What was he looking at? Why was Logan so afraid of the stranger? Roman didn’t see it until the strangers’ face came into focus.

                There was blood dripping down their face, like they’d been dragged along the ground by something… or _someone_ , for quite some time. The more they staggered toward the car, the clearer the odd bend in their leg became. They were walking on a broken leg. But it didn’t seem to faze them. They simply continued toward the car, drawn by the light itself. Roman froze with his mouth hanging open in horror; what _was_ this? A reject horror-movie?

                Without missing a beat, Logan hit the locks on the door. Roman jumped at the _thunk_ of the locks, his hands still glued to the wheel as he watched the shambling approach of the stranger.

                “Is that… like… a zombie?” Virgil asked, his voice hardly above a whisper. Roman glanced in the rearview mirror, seeing Patton still peacefully asleep. He was damn lucky. This was horrifying. Virgil licked his lips and pulled at the strings of his hoodie. “I thought… I thought zombies weren’t real.”

                “They aren’t,” Logan assured him, though the confidence in his words didn’t match the quake of his voice. “It’s probably… probably a side-effect of the gas. A neurotoxin, maybe?”

                The person was almost within reaching distance of the car. Roman subconsciously leaned away from the mangled skin and torn clothing of the stranger. Even if Logan denied it, this person sure as hell _looked_ like a zombie.

                “Go,” Logan said when the stranger started to reach for the window. He became frantic when a bloody, torn hand pressed against Roman’s window. It was… it was trying to get inside. Roman trembled in fear. Logan grabbed his arm and shook him, shouting, “Drive, Roman! Go!”

                Fumbling for the gear shift, Roman put the car into drive and hit the gas. The tires squealed and shrieked as they burned against asphalt for a few seconds, startling Patton awake, but once Roman lifted his foot and pushed it against the gas again, the car was shooting down the highway at highly illegal speeds. When he looked back in the mirror, Roman could see the stranger shrinking in the distance. Almost like a bad dream or a hallucination.

                The red, smeared handprint on his window denied the chance of that, though.

                “Wha-what was that?” Patton asked, his voice a wobbly premonition of tears. “Did we hit something?”

                Before Roman could open his mouth, Virgil cut him off. “Deer,” he lied. “It was a… big-ass deer. Don’t worry about it.”

                While Patton rubbed his eyes and mumbled something about the deer, Roman glared at the road ahead of him. Lying to Patton would only spare his feelings for so long… whatever this smoke was, whatever the explosion was… it wasn’t benign. It wasn’t going to go away by the time Patton woke up in the morning. Even so, Roman made no move to correct him as he continued to drive.

                The farther they drove, the sparser life became. If Roman were feeling whimsical, he might say that they were the last people on earth. But, of course, that was impossible. After all… the zombie/person had walked, or shambled, up to their car. They _looked_ like they could be alive… but their injuries suggested something less savory.

                In the passenger seat, Logan was rigid and stoic, scanning the edges of the headlights as they drove through the night. Checking to make sure Patton had fallen asleep – Virgil was snoring softly as they curled into one another – Roman shifted in his seat.

                “Maybe… maybe we should turn around.” Logan turned in his seat, giving Roman a long, hard look. But he didn’t speak. Roman cleared his throat awkwardly and tried again. “I just mean to say… the farther we go this way, the worse things look… I don’t want to find the source of the explosion, do you?”

                Narrowing his eyes perceptively, Logan frowned. “The source isn’t the point, Roman. We’re going to the coast to get fresh air.”

                Roman tightened his grip on the steering wheel. “This smoke isn’t letting up, Logan. It’s _everywhere_!”

                “Lower your voice,” Logan growled, casting a glance at the backseat. Roman frowned, but let his anger sit on the backburner for a moment. It lowered to a simmer, leaving his nerves a little bubbly for his taste… but Logan didn’t let up. “It’s basic weather, Roman. The coast will bring in fresh air from ocean… assuming this smoke hasn’t taken over the entire world, which is highly unlikely.”

                Roman rolled his eyes. “Aren’t _you_ the optimist.”

                “Be quiet,” Logan snapped, his hands tight on the map. “We need… we need to get fresh air. This car isn’t going to keep us safe forever.”

                “And what about the zombies?” Roman said calmly. He never thought those words would have to leave his mouth. No sane person ever did, really. It was just a fictional set-up. A joke for those who were paranoid off their asses. And yet… there he sat, casually bringing up the living dead. “What if there are more of them?”

                Logan hesitated, then spoke in a level tone. “It _wasn’t_ a zombie.”

                Roman quirked an eyebrow and fiddled with the turning signal. “Oh? Then what, pray tell, was that _thing_ that walked toward my car?”

                Another hesitation. This time, Roman actually stole a glance in Logan’s direction, seeing the anxious confusion on his face as he said, “It was… someone… who was contaminated by this… this… haze. It had to be. Zombies aren’t real. It isn’t scientifically possible.”

                Nodding a bit, Roman set the car to coast as he sighed, “So, this… infection. What do you think it is?”

                Logan fidgeted with his glasses. It was a long-time habit. He did it whenever he was frustrated or at the end of his rope. In this case, Roman was sure it was both. That wasn’t comforting for either of them.

                “I… I don’t know. I can’t… I can’t know until I can study the smoke and its effects.” He took off his glasses and scrubbed a hand over his face tiredly. “But we can’t… we just _can’t_ risk breathing that stuff in. I have no idea what it could do to our internal organs… not to mention the people that were dead in the city. Asphyxiation, maybe? Or an acidic gas?”

                Logan continued to mumble to himself as Roman watched the headlights on the highway. It was dark. No spark of lights in the distance… no people driving along with them. No more infected people stumbling their way through the smoke in the lowlands. Just emptiness. Emptiness as far as Roman dared to look. He didn’t care for it… the quiet or the vastness.

                It reminded him of each horror movie he’d seen. The stories of seclusion and unbeatable odds. Novels of a world that was crumbling around them, and a group of bedraggled strangers tossed together by fate… having his friends with him was little comfort in the face of these themes.

                Because in each story… in each movie, novel, and spine-chilling tale… they were _all_ on borrowed time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dipping back into the Sanders Sides, folks.
> 
> See you next chapter.


	3. Crash, then Burn

_“Prayer and fighting would never help us wake from that living nightmare…but it felt damn good to scream at someone other than god.”_

_\- Roman Mend_

+++++

                Roman enjoyed taking Logan home with him during summer break. Sure, they should have been working. Sure, Logan had a dissertation due in the fall. And sure, Logan wasn’t big fan of the heat… but Roman loved bringing him down south where they could enjoy the warm nights together. Sweet tea in tall, chilled glasses. Logan with his legs up on the porch swing, his eyes closed and content as they swung back and forth.

                It was peaceful. A life that, someday, Roman hoped they would share. Logan could be a researcher or a chemical engineer. Roman could teach drama at the local schools. They could _live_ here, where he grew up. In the warmth and the calm… listening to the trill of crickets and watching the flicker of lightning bugs in the underbrush.

                Those summers… those lazy, perfect summers… they were something Roman never wanted to lose. Something he wanted to cling to and drown in the memory… Logan turning in his seat, smiling at him just so… and opening his mouth to say:

                "Roman! The _road!_ ” Logan screamed. A hand gripped Roman’s bicep, squeezing painfully as Logan repeated, “Watch the road!”

                Roman’s eyes snapped open, and he felt the car lurch as they swerved off the road and into the ditch. Jerking the steering wheel, Roman tried to get things under control; colors bled together in the misty morning light. Trees, grass, the road… Roman hit the brakes, trying to stop the madness…

                And then they hit the trees.

                The car hit hard, the front end crumpling against a wide, oak trunk. Inertia worked its course, slamming them forward to follow the laws of physics. After a moment, Roman heard a groan of pain behind him and the hiss of the engine. Over it all… he could hear the car horn blaring.

                It felt like he’d been hit in the face with a baseball bat when he sat back, pushing the airbag away from himself. He… he’d fallen asleep at the wheel. He shouldn’t have driven through the night. He should have stopped… but the yellow gas has scared him. So he pushed onward. He’d put them all in danger… he could have killed them… he could have lost… Roman’s eyes went wide.

                “Logan,” he looked to the right, seeing Logan slowly sitting upright, holding his head. There was a large gash along his hairline. Probably from the window. Roman grabbed his shoulder shakily, gripping Logan as tight as he could as he sputtered, “Are you… are you okay?”

                Blood dripped down and into Logan’s eyes as he looked at Roman. He was visibly shaken… but there was an underlying glimmer of fatigue. He’d probably fallen asleep, too. Roman didn’t mention that fact. He simply grabbed tissues from the console and pressed them to Logan’s forehead, trying to staunch the bleeding.

                “My… my head,” Logan murmured, holding the tissues to his head as he blinked at the wreckage of the car in confusion. He pivoted in his seat, reaching out to touch Roman’s cheek. His eyes went wide as he withdrew his hand. There was blood on his fingertips. “You’re bleeding.”

                Roman blinked. He didn’t _feel_ any pain. It was shock, probably. He touched his cheek, feeling a soft sting as he brushed across glass that was still in the skin. Frowning, he glanced back at Virgil and Patton. “Are you two alive back there?”

                “Mostly,” Virgil groaned as he sat up and rubbed his neck. He hissed painfully as he helped Patton find his glasses on the floor of the car. “Jesus… what the _fuck_ , dude?”

                Roman grimaced. “I fell asleep.”

                “We should have stopped for the night,” Patton said shakily as he put on his glasses. Roman watched, almost entertained as one of the lenses popped out and fell to the floor. Patton wasn’t as amused. He simply bent forward to pick it up again, pushing it back into the frame. “Now… now what do we do? The car windows aren’t keeping out the gas…”

                Roman’s eyes went wide. The windows were shattered, along with the horribly cracked windshield. Logan blinked sluggishly, giving the windows an odd look. Did he have a concussion or something? He looked half-awake. Covering up his mouth and nose, Roman glanced out through the gaping window, only to see… no haze on the ground. There was no hint of yellow clouds in the distance. There was no orange mist flooding into the car. They were safe.

                For now, at least.

                After tugging at his seatbelt for a while, Roman managed to get himself out of the car. Virgil and Patton helped each other out and into the tall grass of the ditch, both holding each other supportively. Roman wasn’t sure which one needed comfort most… Patton or Virgil? Either answer was sad. He turned away and unbuckled Logan’s belt, pulling him out of the smoking, hissing car and toting him to the edge of the highway.

                “All right,” Roman sighed, setting his backpack of supplies next to Logan. “Patton. You’re the medic of the group. So go…” he waved his hands at Logan. “Go… medic him. Or something.”

                Still standing in the grass, Patton blinked spastically. “I… I’m no EMT, Roman. I’m…” he looked down at his trembling hands, his eyes wide and perturbed as he said, “I’m still shaking, I… I don’t know what I could do for him.”

                Pulling Patton to the road, Virgil opened his own bag of supplies, taking out their first-aid kit. There, he set to work cleaning the cuts on Patton’s face. It seemed it was a free-for-all in terms of care. Roman rolled up his sleeves, taking the largest pieces of gauze he could find… and pressing them to Logan’s forehead. The poor man hardly even flinched.

                While Patton shakily tried to assess the injuries to Virgil, Roman frowned at the gash on Logan’s head. “I think… I think he might need stitches.”

                Virgil didn’t turn away from Patton as he grumbled, “I’m pretty sure we don’t have a suture supplies in a generic fucking first-aid kit.”

                Roman gave him a sidelong glare. “You don’t need to be an asshole about it.”

                “Easy, boys, easy…” Patton said softly as he dug through the first aid kit. “No… no sutures… but we have plenty of antiseptic. And butterfly bandages. And…” Patton paused, then dug into the back pocket of his pants, procuring a small, plastic box with a smile. “I have my handy sewing kit!”

                Virgil frowned. “Babe… do you always have a tiny sewing thing in your pocket?”

                “Well…” Patton pursed his lips and huffed. “I’m kinda accident prone… and I forget to mend holes in stuff. So I carry one with me. Just in case.”

                Roman blinked. “You’re… you’re going to sew up my boyfriend… with a dollar-store sewing kit?”

                While Patton fumbled with the cap of the peroxide, he murmured, “It’s better than nothing.”

                Stepping away from Logan and Patton – he didn’t exactly enjoy the sight of so much blood – Roman wandered along the edge of the highway for a bit, glancing at the road they would have traveled had he not crashed the car. It was an endless asphalt path ahead of them with the vague suggestion of houses on the horizon beckoning them forward. Houses… shelter… safety? Maybe. Or, there could be more gas-infected people stumbling through the town. It was a gamble either way.

                “Hey,” Virgil said, his voice more irritated and gruff than ever. Roman knew that tone; it was the one Virgil always used when he was eager to pick a fight. The one that almost always ended in the two of them standing in the middle of their shared dorm space, shouting at each other while the other refused to back down.

                Roman frowned. Sure, they were friends… but it wasn’t a warm and comfortable companionship. It had come with issues, conflict, and a fair amount of bargaining… they’d had to get along for Patton’s sake. He was their mutual friend. And after Virgil and Patton started dating, it had only served to complicate things. But Roman was sure of one thing: he and Virgil never failed to clash when the stakes were high.

                Heaving a melodramatic sigh, Roman rubbed the back of his neck and stared down the empty road. “What now?”

                “Are we gonna talk about the fucking car?” Virgil asked, his question sharper than necessary. Roman twitched at the accusatory tone, but didn’t respond. Virgil pressed the issue. “You could’ve killed us.”

                Turning on his heel, Roman glared at him. “I think I _know_ that, you emo-band reject. You don’t need to breathe down neck about it.”

                Virgil’s hands were in his pockets. A decidedly relaxed posture in the face of his oncoming words. “Oh yeah? ‘Cuz this all seems like no big deal to you. Well… maybe you’re used to shit like this. Mistakes, ya know?”

                Roman froze, his hands clenched into fists he hadn’t even acknowledged as he grit his teeth and growled, “ _What_?”

                “I’m saying you’re a fuck-up, moron.” Virgil’s eyes were distant and cold as he muttered, “Leave it to the college drop-out to try to kill us.”

                Feeling anger bubble up in his chest, Roman took a few hasty steps forward. Virgil’s eyes went wide. He was panicking. Good. Because Roman was furious.

                He grabbed the collar of Virgil’s hoodie, bringing their faces close so he could speak directly into Virgil’s ear, “You want to run that past me again, you brown-nosing prick?”

                From the side of the road, Patton looked up from his task and gave them a startled, “Hey! Stop it!” But that order went unnoticed.

                Virgil broke Roman’s hold on him, shoving him back a few paces. The physical contact felt gratifying. Like letting off steam. But not quite enough. Roman was still pissed… he wanted to hit someone. Preferably Virgil.

                “I _said_ ,” Virgil emphasized slowly, “You’re a _fuck-up_. A dumbass. A loser. It’s a miracle Logan is still with your sorry ass.”

                Clenching his jaw, Roman gave Virgil a hard shove. Virgil stumbled back, almost lost his footing… it would’ve been more satisfying to watch him hit the ground. “Just because I’m taking a semester off, it doesn’t make me a fuck-up.”

                Virgil snorted. “Oh, _come on_. Everyone knows that if you take a break, you’re probably never coming back.”

                “Are you two _serious_ right now?” Patton shouted as he stepped between the two of them. “We’re in the middle of the… the goddamned apocalypse, and _this_ is what you’re fighting about?”

                “Hey, Patton, baby… no offense, but Roman is being a total dick.” Virgil gestured to Roman, as if this would explain everything. Patton didn’t look convinced. Roman _really_ wanted to hit him, now. Virgil shook his head a bit. “He could’ve killed us just now… and he’s just blowing it off! And now you’re taking his side?”

                “I’m not taking _anyone’s_ side.” Patton glanced between the two of them, his arms outstretched as if to stop a physical fight. “We… we just can’t start fighting. Not now. Not here. We need to stick together.”

                Letting out a sharp, demeaning laugh, Roman shook his head. “Like _hell_ I’m going to let him talk to me like that.” He stepped forward, eager to resume the argument, only to have Patton intervene, stepping between him and Virgil as an effective roadblock.

                “Hey! Hey, now! I said we need to stick together, didn’t I?” Patton squeaked, his arm straining to hold Roman back. “You… you know those scary movies! Where all the people start fighting? That’s when everything turns from bad to worse!”

                “Worse?” Roman asked incredulously. “There was a crazy explosion that’s turning people into zombies!”

                Patton looked up at him, clearly horrified. “W-what?”

                “Yeah!” Virgil shouted, pointing at the wreckage of the car. “And now we have no car to keep us safe. All thanks to you!”

                Swiveling to look at Virgil, Patton tried to calm him. “W-wait a minute –”

                “Oh, please… get off your high fucking horse, Virgil.” Roman glared through the curl of his brown hair, his arms shaking with the urge to give Virgil a good trashing. “After the shit we saw yesterday, I was on the brink of an adrenaline crash. It could’ve happened to _anyone_.”

                “Hang on… what’s that about… zombies?” Patton asked, his voice quivering a bit. Roman waved him away.

                “Shut up, Patton. We’re busy.”

                Virgil’s eyes went wide and he jumped to Patton’s defense. “Hey! Don’t you _dare_ talk to him like that!”

                Patton startled at Virgil’s outburst and he gave him a baffled look. “I’m… it’s okay, I’m not upset or anything –”

                “No. No, it’s not okay!” Virgil pushed past Patton and crowded Roman’s space, giving him a long, hard look before he said, “You _ever_ talk to him like that again… and we’re gonna have a problem.”

                Roman quirked an eyebrow. “Am I supposed to feel threatened?”

                There was a flicker of something in Virgil’s eyes… maybe bloodlust. Maybe just primal instinct. Either way, it would be impossible to recollect perfectly in the aftermath. Roman simply watched as Virgil pushed up his long sleeves and took a step back.

                “I’ll give you something to feel threatened about…” he promised, drawing his fast back while Patton gasped and reached out to stop him.

                Roman didn’t flinch away. He didn’t even move. He simply stared Virgil down, waiting for the fist to come flying… but it never did. There was the slap of skin on skin as Virgil’s arm was caught halfway through the swing.

                Caught… by Logan’s hand.

                “That’s enough,” Logan said, glaring at the both of them through broken, bent glasses. “This is ridiculous.”

He waited for a moment, staring down Virgil until the tension left his arm. Then he let it drop. When he looked at Roman, it gave Roman a clear view of the gauze that Patton had hastily plastered over the poorly done stitches. A large bruise was starting to form on the right side of his face, and Roman winced in sympathy. Logan didn’t respond to it.

                Adjusting his glasses a bit, Logan glanced up the road, eyeing the promise of townhouses on the horizon. “Now that you’re done… I think we should keep moving forward.”

                Shoving his hands into his pockets, Virgil let out an obnoxious sigh. “ _Great_. Now the guy with the concussion is gonna tell us what to do.”

                Tempers flaring once more, Roman nearly jumped Virgil as he shouted, “Say that again, Virgil! I fucking _dare_ you!”

                With Patton’s help, Logan stepped between the two them and pushed Roman and Virgil apart.

                “I said _enough_!” Logan shouted, his eyes narrowed and expression strained as he grumbled, “For god’s sake… it’s like trying to keep toddlers from slapping each other.”

                Patton frowned, obviously disapproving before he pulled Virgil away by the arm, tugging him to the other side of the road and holding him there. “Now… I know we’re all a little frazzled, and I _know_ you two don’t always see eye-to-eye…”

                Virgil snorted at that, and Roman rolled his eyes. Patton ignored them.

                “… but that’s no excuse to go _looking_ for trouble. Logan’s right… we should keep moving forward.”

                Logan nodded once, winced, and held a hand to his head. “Of course I’m right… there’s a town not too far ahead. With the way the gas has dispersed, we can assume there may be safety and shelter there.”

                Virgil looked down at the ground, his expression a mystery as he muttered, “What if there isn’t?”

                “There _should_ be,” Logan reasoned with a pained scowl. “If there isn’t gas… people shouldn’t have been effected by it. Therefore, no one will be –”

                “But what if they _were_ effected?” Virgil stressed as he looked at Logan with wide, fearful eyes. For the first time, Roman wasn’t upset by his tone… he was scared. They _all_ were. Even Logan, though he would never admit it.

                Hesitating a moment, Logan blinked slowly, trying to find the right words to soothe their little ragtag team. “Now… I know you’re not one for optimism, Virgil. I’m not one for it, either. But we need to keep an open mind to solutions. Especially if one of our options could offer safety.”

                Though he didn’t quite look placated, Virgil pressed his lips together… and said nothing more. Nodding in approval, Logan started east, walking along the dividing line of the road. Roman grabbed his bag – so did Virgil, not that it mattered – and eagerly followed. Wherever Logan went, that was where Roman wanted to be… however, it came with concerns.

                Logan wasn’t walking in a straight line. He seemed off-kilter… almost dizzy in a worrying way. Maybe Virgil was right. Maybe Logan _was_ concussed. Did Patton check his pupils and reflexes? Or had he just haphazardly stitched Logan up without thought? Roman frowned; maybe Patton would’ve been more thorough if Virgil hadn’t gone picking stupid fights.

                Jogging to catch up to Logan and walk side-by-side with him, Roman tried to lean forward and catch Logan’s eye. “Hey, handsome… how ya feelin’?”

                Refusing to make eye contact, Logan glared at the road ahead. “I’m fine.”

                “You don’t _look_ fine, sweetheart,” Roman said softly, trying to be a supportive voice. Logan didn’t appreciate it judging by the scowl on his face. Roman tried to reiterate. “I mean… you’re a little wobbly. Maybe we should sit for a bit… we _were_ just in a car accident.”

                “I said I’m fine.”

                Grabbing Logan’s wrist and giving it a squeeze, Roman was quiet when he said, “Logan… you’re the most important person in my life. And you hit your head pretty dang hard… if you need to sit for a moment, it’s okay. We can take a break and –”

                “Roman,” Logan said, cutting him off mid-sentence. He turned to Roman, giving him a sharp look through his cracked glasses. “I love you. But when I say, ‘I’m fine,’ I mean it. Now let it go.”

                Releasing Logan’s wrist, Roman held up his hands in surrender. “All right, all right… I’ll take your word for it.” That was a lie. Roman was still worried. He had good reason to be.

Even so, they continued to walk along the road, glancing at the tall grasses to the left… and the forests to the right. It was like the world before civilization, just barren land and open nature. Animals rustling through the underbrush and skies clear of pollution… Roman liked nature, but… even now, it held a sort of ominous undertone.

                Their run-in with the zombie thing that past evening was weighing heavily on his mind… Logan said zombies weren’t real. But, if it wasn’t a zombie… what _was_ it? Were there more? Could the infection spread to the entire country? It didn’t sit well with him… and the silent, empty roads didn’t help anything.

                When the steeple of a church poke its way out of the horizon, it brought little satisfaction. Things were still too quiet… too soft… too peaceful. Could such a thing be possible? Was there such a thing as ‘too much quiet?’ Well, in Roman’s mind there was… and it didn’t feel good. It felt like a slow, sickening twist in his stomach.

                The gas had lifted, leaving the air clear… so where _was_ everyone?

                “Look,” Logan said, pointing up toward the spire tiredly. “We’re almost to the town… and if there’s a church, that means there’s shelter.”

                “It could also mean more zombies,” Virgil said begrudgingly. Patton let out a concerned whimper, but no one consoled him as they continued forward.

                “They aren’t _zombies_ ,” Logan replied sharply. “They were just infected by the gas… but now that it’s gone, things should be fine.”

                Virgil clicked his tongue. “We can’t be too careful… anything could go wrong.”

                Before he spoke, Logan glanced back at Virgil, giving him a swift onceover before murmuring, “I suppose that’s true… with Murphy’s Law in mind, we should proceed with caution.”

                “Oh _great_ ,” Roman sighed dramatically. “The resident pessimist is in cahoots with my boyfriend. Joy, joy, joy…”

                Next to him, Logan gave Roman a sidelong glare. It went unnoticed and unheeded, but Patton cleared his throat and said in an irritatingly scolding voice, “Roman…”

                Holding his hands up in surrender, Roman shrugged tiredly. “Fine, fine… he’s not a pessimist.” Everyone was quiet for a moment, and Roman muttered, “He’s a anarchist.”

                Abruptly, Virgil stopped short. “You wanna shut your mouth?”

                Roman laughed. “Oh, I _wish_ you’d shut _yours_.”

                “Enough!” Logan shouted hoarsely. He sounded _furious_. As if Roman and Virgil’s argument was somehow besmirching his honor. He turned to glare at the two of them, and Roman was startled to see fresh blood leaking out from under the gauze that hid his hasty stitches. “I have had it up to _here_ with your petty arguments!” He shouted, holding his hand high. “And I’m _done!_ I can’t _deal_ with it right now! I have a migraine!”

                As Logan caught his breath, Virgil and roman looked down at the pavement. Not once did Roman dare to look at Virgil… or Logan. Guilt welled up in his chest, a big, discomforting lump between his lungs as he glared at the asphalt. Despite all of it… he still blamed Virgil for the argument.

                “Logan,” Patton said, stepping forward to offer a hand. “You should sit down.”

                Logan waved him away. “No. I’m fine.”

                “You hit your head really hard. You have a concussion,” Patton insisted, taking Logan’s arm and walking him to the side of the road. “You should sit… take a moment. When you feel better, we can start walking again.”

                Tugging his arm out of Patton’s grip, Logan stumbled a few steps back and shot Patton a glare. “I don’t need a nanny, Patton.”

                Patton frowned. “I’m a nurse.”

                “I don’t need a _nurse_ either,” Logan snapped as he gingerly touched the gauze over his stitches. He hissed, tearing his hand away and scrunching his eyes tight. “Shit…”

                “See?” Patton sighed with a slight shake of his head. “Let’s take a break. We can…”

                Patton’s voice trailed off oddly as he looked off in the distance. He was staring over the left side of the road, toward those tall, tall grasses. He looked surprised… by what? Roman narrowed his eyes, trying to see what Patton saw… but all he saw was the swaying of the grass in the autumn breeze.

                “It’s a person,” Patton breathed, his voice awed and excited.

                “No.” Virgil stepped forward and grabbed Patton’s arm, keen on holding him in place. Patton gave him a startled look, and Virgil shook his head. “No, you’re not going out there… we don’t know who… or _what_ is out there.”

                “B-but… but if it’s a person, we can get help,” Patton reasoned, a desperate, frantic smile on his face. He almost looked hysteric when he glanced between Virgil and the tall grass. “L-Logan said… Logan said the gas is gone. We should be fine, right?”

                Logan cracked open his eyes to give Patton an unamused grimace. “I things _should_ be fine… it’s no guarantee that –”

                Patton was off and running before Logan could finish.

                “Fuck!” Virgil shouted, dashing into the grass after him. “Patton! Come back! Stop!”

                “Hey!” Patton screamed to the apparent stranger in the grass, trying to draw their attention. Roman’s stomach dropped; Patton was going to get them all killed. “Hey! Over here! We need help!”

                “Jesus Christ,” Roman breathed. Logan was rushing into the grass, too… he couldn’t have that.  He raced after Logan, trying to shout Patton down as Virgil did the same. “Patton! Stop! Don’t shout!”

                But Patton did. He shouted. He jumped up as he ran, trying to get his bearings in the grass that reached over his head. Roman ran, following the suggestion of Logan’s back as they pushed through the crunching, crackling brush. It was a blur of color and sound… the rush of his feet through the dry grass, the flicker of Logan’s dark jacket through the yellow reeds, and the heavy thud of his heartbeat in his ears as he ran.

                Before they could find him, Patton let out a bloodcurdling scream.

                “Patton!” Roman cried, hearing an echo of his name in Logan’s voice.

                Then there was more shouting. Virgil, this time. It was inaudible… the kind of words that melded together in fury and fear. The kind that no one can make sense of when they’re wracked with panic and adrenaline.

                “Get _off_ of him!” Virgil. Virgil’s voice. Sharp and real through the _cracks_ and _snaps_ and _thuds_. Patton screamed again, but this one was less jarring. Virgil let out another grunt, and Roman heard a loud, metallic _clang_ as Virgil’s backpack came into contact with something hard.

                Then, the screaming stopped.

                Abruptly, Logan came to a stop, gasping for breath. Roman stopped just short of barreling into him, stumbling to a stop behind him. Logan doubled over, his hands braced on his knees as he let out desperate, deep gasps. Leaning close, Roman rubbed his back.

                “I don’t… I don’t feel good…” Logan gasped, his voice hoarse and worn.

                Roman pat his back a few times, still catching his breath as he glanced at the tall grass around them. It was almost half a foot taller than him, making it impossible to know where Patton and Virgil were.

                “Hey!” Roman called, half afraid that he wouldn’t get a response. “You guys okay?”

                There was a beat of silence, and then Virgil called back. “Yeah! Yeah, we’re… we’re okay.”

                “You’re hurt!” Patton cried, sounding mortified. Roman quirked an eyebrow when he heard the sounds of a definite struggle. “Here, let me see…”

                “I’m fine. I said I’m _fine_ , Patton… just help me up.”

                Roman let out a sigh of relief, lifting a hand up and waving it. “Hey! Can you see my hand?”

                A brief pause, then… “I can!” Patton said, his voice still trembling. “Stay there! We’ll come to you.”

                “Fine,” Roman sighed. “Fine… we can… we can stay put.” He gave Logan’s back another solid pat, watching the way Logan’s legs trembled and the bandage on his forehead was getting continuously more red with blood.

                Just before he could tell Logan to sit down and put his head between his legs, Roman heard the _snap_ of the brush underfoot. But… it didn’t come from the direction that Virgil and Patton were in. No… this came from Roman’s left. He looked to the sound, eyes wide and heart racing as he waited for something to appear. The grass was too thick. The silence was too heavy. His heartbeat filled his ears and he couldn’t hear anything else. It hurt to breathe.

                “H-hey,” Roman said aloud, trying to prove himself wrong.

                “What?” Virgil snapped, his voice coming from the far right.

                Roman’s heart sank; if it wasn’t them, then… Roman heard the telltale _snap_ of the dry grass. The fall of uneven footsteps… shuffling… dragging along the ground. He took a step back, only to bump into Logan. Logan, with a bit of effort, managed to stand upright and glare at him, only to have his expression turn to utter horror in a matter of seconds. Roman followed his stare, and saw one of the Infected step through the layers of grass.

                It was coming after them.

                With blue-grey skin and sunken eyes, it stumbled forward with wheezing, labored breaths. Torn clothing and skin that was caked in dirt... and blood. It was a walking nightmare, just like the one that had approached the car the night before. Just like the movies… just like the books… it reached for them, all crazed, bloodshot eyes and cracked skin. Roman froze, his fight-or-flight instincts betraying him as his knees locked and held him in place.

                Logan grabbed his shoulder, tugging him uselessly. “R-Roman,” he stuttered. “We… we should run,” he said, “We should…” and then he collapsed to the ground.

                Roman looked down at him, eyes wide as he shouted, “Logan!”

                The infected… _thing_ … reached for Roman, and he stumbled away, tripping over Logan’s legs and sending himself toppling backwards. Roman’s skull bounced off the ground and he bit his tongue, but he managed to sit up and grab Logan’s arm, dragging him away from the infected person.

                “Stay… back!” Virgil shouted as he came jumping out of the grass with his backpack swinging in a vicious arc toward the shambling creature. The metal cans in his bag proved useful, knocking the thing back and into the dirt with a solid _thwack_ of metal on skin.

                And once it was down… it didn’t get back up.

                Roman let out a breath of relief, still shaking where he sat on the ground cradling Logan to his chest. Patton stepped out of the grass, his eyes wide and hands shaking. Had he been hiding? Roman couldn’t blame him… it was horrifying. And he wasn’t even prepared for what he’d seen. He’d been asleep when the first infected person came stumbling toward the car… Patton had been left in the dark, but not for long. Reality was a cruel mistress.

                Turning to give Roman a quick look, Virgil’s eyes darted down to Logan… then back up. “You guys good?”

                “Y-yeah,” Roman managed to sputter. “A little shaken up… but good.”

                Patton dropped to his knees in front of him, pressing two fingers against Logan’s neck. Roman blinked. He was feeling for a pulse. But with the way his hands were shaking, it would be a miracle if he could anything. Roman pulled Patton’s hand away gently.

                “He only fainted,” Roman sighed, holding Logan a little closer. “I’m not surprised… he was already lightheaded and dizzy… I guess the panic pushed him over the edge.”

                Patton cooed something soft and sorry, but Roman didn’t hear it. He was distracted by the way Virgil was glaring down at the crumpled zombie at his feet. It had taken a special kind of brave… or a damn good fight reflex to take that thing down with nothing but a backpack. And he looked none the worse for wear aside from a tear in his hoodie.

                When Virgil caught him staring, Roman didn’t look away. He held that stare for a few seconds, watching his expression carefully when he said, “Thanks, Virgil.”

                Virgil shrugged. “Yeah, well… fight or flight, am I right?”

                Humming thoughtfully, Roman gestured to the hole in Virgil’s hoodie. “You know… Patton has a sewing kit for that.”

                Blinking, Virgil lifted his arm and gave the tear a glance, as if he hadn’t even noticed it was there. “Oh. Yeah. Uh… I’m fine. It’s whatever. Just a scratch.”

                “It’s not a scratch,” Patton insisted, standing up and trying to grab Virgil’s arm. “That guy knocked you down… he hurt you. Let me see it.”

                “No.” Virgil shrugged away from Patton, slinging his backpack onto his shoulder again. “I’m fine, seriously. We should focus on Logan, anyway.”

                Roman blinked, glancing down at Logan’s closed eyes and slack expression. Logan had been insisting they find shelter… he was right. They needed a place to get away from the people infected by the gas. Even if they weren’t zombies… there was still a chance the infection could spread, right? Roman frowned; it wasn’t a pleasant thought, but discretion was key in this situation.

                “From now on,” Roman said carefully as he gave Patton a look. “We need to be… _quiet_. And avoid drawing attention to ourselves.”

                Nodding his head a bit, Patton fidgeted anxiously. He was still looking at Virgil… had he been hurt that badly? When Virgil turned, Roman could only see a little blood around the hole in his sleeve. Even then, it wasn’t enough to warrant great concern. He seemed fine.

                Logan was the priority for Roman, anyway.

                So, he slung Logan’s arms over his shoulders, pulling Logan’s deadweight forward as he stood up on trembling legs. Adrenaline was fleeting, so he needed to bring Logan as far as he could before his legs gave out.

                “Patton,” he grunted, hoisting Logan up until he could grab Logan’s legs and pull him into a piggyback. “Get my bag?”

                “S-sure,” Patton jumped forward, grabbing Roman’s discarded backpack and throwing it over his shoulder. He glanced between him and Virgil for a moment, his blue eyes wide and confused as he murmured, “Now… now where do we go?”

                Roman hesitated; if they went into town, they _could_ find shelter… but, at the same time, they could find more infected people. A backpack full of canned goods couldn’t take down an entire town. What if they were surrounded? What if they found shelter, but got trapped inside? What if, what if… what if Logan wouldn’t… or _couldn’t_ wake up?

                “We’ll go into town,” Virgil said in a surefire tone. Roman gave him a sharp look, but Virgil met him halfway, catching his stare with steel in his eyes. “If we keep quiet, they won’t hear us, right? They won’t come after us. We’ll find an empty house, lock it up, and figure out what to do from there.”

                With a shaky, breathless laugh, Patton shifted his weight between his feet uneasily. “You know… I love you, Virgil… and that includes your crazy conspiracies… but, to be honest, I n-never… never expected them to come in handy.”

                Shrugging tiredly, Virgil gave Patton a lopsided smile. “No one ever _expects_ the worst… I’m just great at worrying.”

                Sighing, Roman shifted Logan on his back, pulling him up when he started to slip. “As cute as this is, Logan is… _fairly_ heavy. Can we get going?”

                Virgil gave Roman a look. A long, dark look that lingered… but he wasn’t looking at Roman. He was looking up, at the tall, tall spire of the church. “Sure… stay low, and keep close. I want us all to get there in one piece.”

                Roman’s eye twitched as Virgil started through the grasses, creeping low and slow to avoid detection. Patton followed close behind, imitating the low crawl while Roman trudged along behind them.

                When had Virgil become their leader? Was he high and mighty because he took down the infected attackers? No… Virgil was brave. Roman had to give him that, at least. He had been able to move and fight back… Roman… Roman had frozen. That that bothered him because he was raised with a very specific statement in mind: to Live is to Fight.

                If he couldn’t even fight for himself, how long would he last?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my... I sure hope Logan is all right.
> 
> See you next chapter.


	4. Contamination

                _“When I was a child, I was told never to talk to strangers. Now, I eagerly seek out someone who knows what the hell they’re doing… because I’ve found myself lost in whatever I do.”_

_\- Roman Mend_

+++++

                Low and slow, Virgil had said… soft and quiet through the grass. It was easier said than done for Roman; with Logan on his back, he couldn’t exactly crawl through the grass. No, he had to bend over and slowly trudge forward, the muscles in his legs burning as he desperately tried to keep Logan from slipping off his back and into the dirt.

                When they reached the edge of the grass that met the road, Roman nearly cried with relief. They were on the edge of town… that meant shelter. And, with any luck, a way out of this mess. They could call someone, _anyone_ , and get out of this reject horror movie nonsense.

                However, Virgil was keen on taking his sweet time as he crept forward, glancing back and forth across the road. Watchful… but hesitant. Like a hawk unsure whether it wanted to dive in or remain suspended in the air, safe from sight. Roman huffed. What was he looking for? Oncoming traffic? There was no one else on the road. They were alone, in the middle of the nowhere.

                “Okay…” Virgil murmured. He licked his lips, his hands a little shaky as he glanced toward the nearest house. Two stories… the windows were cracked, and a few were completely shattered on the second floor. But the front door was wide open. Almost as if someone had tried to escape. Or something had gone inside. Indecision on the break of reality… Roman swallowed thickly. He wasn’t sure which answer he liked better. Virgil nodded toward the house and gave Roman and Patton a quick look. “We’re gonna make a break for that house.”

                Patton went a little pale. “M-make a break… you think… you don’t think there are more of those… zombie-things in town, do you?”

                “Of _course_ not,” Roman said sarcastically. “They’re all in the grass, reenacting children of the goddamn corn.”

                Virgil glared at him. “Shut up, Roman.” He turned back to Patton. “We don’t know if there are more, but just to be safe, we should get to the house as fast as possible and lock it up.”

                Roman paused. “What if there’s one of them _inside_ the house?”

                Hesitating for only a moment, Virgil glanced at his backpack. When had their survival supplies become his makeshift weapon? Roman shifted uneasily as Virgil’s eyes flickered around the group, like he was counting which ones of them he would save first, if the time came to choose. “If it’s just one… I think I can handle it.”

                Roman frowned; that was _very_ conditional. What if there was an entire family of mindless, deranged infection-people stumbling around the house? What if they were all on the second floor, just _waiting_ for someone to walk through the front door and be trapped? Shrugging a bit, Roman pulled Logan up once more. He was slipping, and Roman’s muscles could only hold out for so long. Whether he liked it or not… they needed to stop and rest for a bit. Unfortunately, that meant following Virgil’s plan.

                “All right… we’ll run on three, okay?” Virgil said, already bracing himself to sprint. Roman baulked at the suggestion, gripping the back of Logan’s thighs in a vain attempt to hold him up as his muscles seized.

                “Excuse me, I’m still _carrying_ someone.” He glanced at Logan’s arms draped lazily over his shoulders. “How do you expect me to run?”

                Virgil frowned and gave him a tired look. “I’m not telling you to fucking _sprint_ , you drama queen. Just… hurry.”

Patton turned to give Roman a smile, his eyes glimmering frightfully behind dirty, cracked glasses. “It’s okay, Roman. We’re in this together. We won’t just leave you behind.”

                “Well,” Roman sniffed dramatically. “It’s good to know that _someone_ cares about us.”

                Rolling his eyes, Virgil turned back to the house, glancing around the open, twenty-yard gap between them and the house. It was empty. No stumbling, bloody people. No ominous rustling. It was a clean shot. Clean air as long as they could see… but for how long?

                Virgil took a shaky breath. “Okay… one… two… three!”

                Virgil ran, but not in a way that Roman expected. He’d always assumed that Virgil was a laid-back, uncaring person. He wasn’t a hurried man. Not one to go out of his way to exercise or practice physical discipline. Yet, he ran like the star of the college track team. Arms and legs pumping as he flew across the asphalt, then grass, then sidewalk. Patton was at his heels, stumbling a bit before finding his pace. Their steps fell into sync when they hit the front lot of the house, staring up at their hopeful shelter in anxious expectation.

                Not wanting to be left in their dust, Roman tried to rush as much as he could… without dropping Logan, of course. This resulted in a strange, staggering jog that almost led to Logan toppling to the ground in an unconscious mess. Gripping Logan’s thigh in his right hand and his arm in the other, Roman managed to keep him from falling as he stumbled toward the house.

                Patton was waiting for him on the front stoop, watching the way Virgil carefully crept in through the open door. Roman caught his breath, pulling Logan up again.

                “Why… why did we stop?” He sputtered, glancing over his shoulder to see if they’d been followed.

                Just as he suspected, their little sprint hadn’t gone unnoticed. Heavy, thudding footsteps and fractured paths in the grass gave away their location. Heavy breathing hung in the silent air like a neon sign, glowing and damning as they turned to survey their surroundings. As they stood on the front steps of the house, shapes were starting to slowly make their way out of the tall grasses of the ditch. Across town, the loping, stumbling forms of humans had stopped… and turned in their direction. They weren’t safe anymore.

                “Virgil’s checking to see if there are any…” Patton paused, then shivered, his hands rubbing at his arms worriedly as he glanced through the open door. “Any of those… _things_ … inside the house.”

                Frowning, Roman watched the shadows of the infected townsfolk dew ever closer. They didn’t have time to be picky, anymore. They needed shelter before the infected strangers got too close. With any luck, they could hide long enough to make the infected people lose interest… but to do that, they needed to seal the doors and windows. Roman frowned at that thought.

                Who was he? What was this scenario? Making plans to seal up a house that didn’t belong to him. Fighting for his life against an unknown infection. This wasn’t real life. It couldn’t be. He didn’t want it to feel real… but the mad thud of his heart in his chest told him otherwise. He was terrified. Afraid of what would happen if they didn’t find shelter. Scared of what would happen to Logan when… or _if_ he woke up. Shaking and unsure of what they were going to do once this was all over.

                “Get inside,” Roman said, nearly kicking Patton to get him to move. Patton hesitated, glancing to the house, then to Roman, then back into the house.

                “But… but Virgil said –”

                “Patton, I know you love Virgil, but I need to you listen to me,” Roman hissed, nodding his head toward the shadows that were getting too close for comfort. “We are _literally_ surrounded. We need to get inside. _Now_.”

                Only pausing for a moment, Patton met Roman’s eyes. He saw the fear, there. Reflected behind the scratched lenses of his glasses and the light in his eyes. The blue of his irises reflected the world beyond them, swimming with shadows and trembling with fear. Then he blinked, looking up and surveying the shambling silhouettes of the infected walking toward them. Scared, unsure, frustrated… Patton slipped into the house and held the door for Roman.

                Stumbling inside, Roman glanced around the living room. A table was overturned, and pictures had fallen from the wall… most likely due to the explosion that caused this mess. Luckily, there was a sofa where he could deposit Logan. He was careful letting him down, turning and lifting his legs onto the cushions so he could be a little more comfortable.

                Patton was busying himself with locking the door, but Roman _knew_ that wouldn’t cut it. With enough weight, any door could break. How many people had been outside? Ten? Twenty? Surely, a town could hold more than just twenty people. They needed to brace themselves for the worst possibility.

                “Guys? Is that you?” Roman nearly jumped out of his skin when the voice echoed through the house. Virgil was on the second floor, probably calling down the stairs when he heard they came inside.

                “Yeah,” Patton said, his voice quivering as he turned the deadbolt. “The… the zombie-things saw us… they’re coming toward the house.”

                Virgil’s feet _thu-thu-thumped_ down the stairs as he rushed to help them barricade the door. “Get a book case or something…” he ordered, already sliding some sort of cabinet in front of a window to block access.

                “We can turn over the table,” Roman said as he pushed up his sleeves and got down to work.

                They could have used Logan’s logical insight for the barricading… he would know exactly what to do. Logan was smart. Logan was sure. Logan was… no. _He still is._ Roman frowned and helped Patton drag a bookshelf across the floor. They put it in front of the door, then moved on to the windows. There were only a few on the first floor, and they simply covered them with the overturned tables and pushed furniture up against them, holding them in place.

                Virgil was a busybody through the whole thing, slipping in and out of the room to check points of entry… his paranoia was working to their advantage, though. Roman couldn’t fault him on foresight. Roman pulled the curtains and blocked the view of intruders with Patton, making sure their barricades were secure as Virgil flew through the house with harried, shaking breaths. Virgil checked the back door… then the cellar… then the second floor… and came back down, breathless but unharmed.

                “I think… I think we got everything.” Virgil scrubbed a hand over his face, a thin sheen of sweat on his forehead. “If they’re gonna try to get in, they’ll have to teleport or something.”

                Shivering a bit, Patton’s eyes went wide as he glanced at the windows, looking genuinely mortified. “You… you don’t think they could do that, right? Please say you’re just making a joke.”

                For the first time in a while, Virgil smiled softly. “Yeah, I’m joking, Patty. Zombies can’t teleport.”

                “They aren’t zombies,” Logan grumbled, but his voice didn’t sound like his own. It was like a breath of smoke… there, but only just. Everyone paused, turning to see Logan slowly sitting up on the sofa. He was holding a hand to his forehead, face pained as he muttered, “They’re just infected by the gas.” He blinked, looking around the house in confusion. “Where the hell am I?”

                Already pushing up his sleeves and adjusting his glasses, Patton stepped forward and pushed Logan back down. Roman saw the medical training in those movements. He saw the way Patton’s eyes turned focused and sharp when he said, “Careful, okay? We need you to sit back and relax… I want to check your eyes and ears before I let you go marching around giving orders.”

                Logan made a face, only mildly inconvenienced by Patton’s ministrations. “Is that really how you see me?” He asked, amusement playing in his tone as Patton took off his glasses and set them aside. Logan didn’t seem to have the energy to smile as he muttered, “Am I just a bossy ring-leader?”

                Clicking the penlight that he pulled out of his jacket pocket, Patton pursed his lips. “Gotta be honest, Logan… you fit that spot better than the rest of us.”

                “Agreed,” Virgil deadpanned as he threw his backpack onto the floor and kicked it aside. Roman gave the doors and windows a careful look; he didn’t quite trust the stability yet. Virgil, however, seemed satisfied as he wandered back into the kitchen. “I’m gonna see if there’s an electricity… or phone service.”

                Patton was holding Logan’s face in place as he flicked the light over his eyes, checking the dilation of his pupils. “See if there’s running water. We should stay hydrated.”

                Roman smiled at that; Patton had always been a good caretaker. He just didn’t give himself credit for it. He liked to sit on the backburner, cheering on everyone else as they charged forward and made names for themselves. Quiet and smiling, he was complacent in his position… but Roman knew better.

                Stepping forward, Roman sat himself down next to the sofa. He could take Logan’s hand there, and he brushed his thumbs over the dry skin of Logan’s knuckles while Patton took his other wrist. Checking his pulse, Roman supposed.

                “We’re in a safe house,” Roman said softly as Patton timed Logan’s pulse. He looked different when he was working like this; less like the soft, comforting man they knew and more like a trained surgeon. Roman tried to overlook the glossy glint in Logan’s eye as he reached up to pass a hand through Logan’s hair, murmuring, “We blocked all the doors and windows, so… we should be safe for a while.”

                Logan blinked – too sluggish, too unaware – before he gave the barricaded door a sparing glance. “And… how will we get help?” He asked, his tone flat and distant… like he wasn’t quite aware of that he was also in danger. That thought made Roman’s skin crawl as Logan wetted his lips and concluded, “We can’t hole up in here forever.”

                Virgil stepped back into the room, leaning heavily against the doorway as he tapped the screen of his phone a few times. “Well… no cell service, guys. Looks like the lights are out, too.” He lifted his eyes to give the other occupants of the room a tired look. “Anybody know anything about electrical wiring?”

                Patton nodded calmly, completely ignorant to the topic of conversation as he muttered, “Okay… your pulse is normal…” he pushed his glasses up on his nose before he rocked back on his heels. “I’m still worried about your head, though.”

                “Noted.” Logan took his hand back, rubbing his eyes as he tiredly sighed, “Again, we can’t just barricade ourselves in an abandoned house.” He turned to look at Virgil, still a little hazy as a frowned and said, “Fiddling with the electric should be the _least_ of our worries right now.”

                Quirking an eyebrow, Virgil shoved his phone into his back pants pocket. “I’m just saying… cooking would be easier with power.”

                “There are plenty things we can eat without cooking,” Logan snapped back. Roman gave him a sidelong glance. Logan was insistent that they move on… but why? Did he know something they didn’t? Logan sniffed and touched the bandage on his head, withdrawing his hand with a grimace. “We shouldn’t get too comfortable here.”

                Patton glanced up from his bag, his hands still lingering on the first-aid kit as his eyes flicked from person to person uneasily. “What? Why not? This is… it’s so much safer than just being outside. Or in the car.”

                Without warning, something slammed against the front door. Not heavy enough to make the bookshelf move, but _just_ strong enough to make the wooden frame shiver. Patton shouted in alarm, only to cover his mouth guiltily when everyone looked at him; they needed to be _quiet_ if the infected townsfolk were going to lose interest.

                As if to prove that point, the banging on the doors continued, like hands desperately trying to reach through the cracks and gain sanctuary. Under all of the scraping and pounding, there was an audible hiss. Like someone trying to breathe, but their lungs wouldn’t cooperate. The dull, moaning wheeze of the infected people growling at the doors and windows, trying in vain to get inside the house.

                Leaning away from the windows, Patton started to quiver. After a solid minute of the noise, he covered his ears and closed his eyes tight. Roman didn’t blame him; it was like listening to a horror movie audio track on repeat. Over and over, the groan of people who were literally falling apart. The pound of hands against the wooden shutters. The scent of burning flesh hanging in the air, along with the buzz of faulty electrical wiring. And the crack of the glass windows behind their makeshift barricade. It was monotonous and draining… Roman found himself tapping his foot to distract himself.

                “Come here, Pat,” Virgil ordered, digging through his backpack and producing his favorite headphones. Patton went to him slowly, his hands wringing as he gave the front door a distrusting look. Virgil didn’t wait for permission before he put the headphones on Patton, sheltering him from a bit of the noise. “Listen to something.”

                Patton blinked, touching the headphones gently before he gave the door another anxious look. The pounding had continued. The infected people weren’t giving up. And all through that noise was the underlying rasp of stale air through dead lungs… the wheezing and moaning of the infected. Patton took a few steps away from the door before he gave Virgil a worried glance. “What… what about you?”

                Virgil pulled out his own noise-cancelling headphones and put them on with a smile. Roman frowned; he never thought he would be jealous of those obnoxious, bulky things. Now those damn headphones were keeping Virgil and Patton sane while Logan and Roman had to endure the ambience.

                Grabbing Roman’s hand, Logan used him as an anchor as he shakily pushed himself up onto his feet. “Let’s go upstairs. We shouldn’t be able to hear the _moaning_ from up there.”

                Roman smirked and gave Logan a nudge, trying to lighten the mood. “That sounds pervy.”

                Snatching his hand away from Roman’s grip, Logan stalked toward the stairs, dragging their bag with him as he went. Roman was quick to follow… staying on the first floor all alone wouldn’t exactly be pleasant in this situation. Plus, with the way Logan staggered and tilted, Roman wanted to be there just in case he collapsed again.

                When they breeched the second floor, Roman was surprised by how far away the groaning seemed. It was like someone turned down the volume… but left it on, just in case someone wanted to know what the apocalypse sounded like. Roman frowned and glanced around the second floor.

                There was a child’s bedroom. A guest room. And finally, a master bedroom. It felt strange to be in someone else’s house without permission. Blocking their doors, using their food supplies… was this really what it meant to stay alive? Was this ‘survival of the fittest?’ If so, it didn’t feel right. It felt like thievery. But, at the same time, they didn’t exactly have much of a choice.

                “Let me see,” Patton said behind them, his voice echoing oddly in the house as he grabbed at Virgil. Roman glanced back at them, seeing the way Patton grabbed at Virgil’s arm. He’d pulled off his headphones, leaving them suspended around his neck as he tried to force Virgil to face him. “Virgil! Let me see! You might need stitches!”

                Virgil twisted away, looking irritated as he pulled off his own headphones and snapped, “It’s _fine,_ Pat. I said it was fine.” Patton tried to grab at him again, and Virgil jerked away from his grasp. “Why won’t you believe me?”

                Patton took back his hands, but didn’t seem keen on giving up as he glared at Virgil pointedly. “Because it’s _bleeding_ and I’m the only medical professional we have.”

                Taking another liberal step away from Patton, Virgil had a strange look on his face as he grumbled, “Look… if it _really_ needed stitches, it would be bleeding a lot more, wouldn’t it?”

                That was true. Even Roman knew that. But still… the body reacted strangely when adrenaline kicked in, didn’t it? Things change when the body is pushed to its limit.

                Patton wasn’t convinced either and he changed his tactics, being calm and rational as he said, “Virgil. I love you. I care about you. Please, if you’re hurt, you need to let me see if –"

                “Patton,” Virgil said, soft and careful. “I’m fine. I promise.”

                Roman quirked an eyebrow as he way Patton opened his mouth to say something else… and then closed it, looking away. The air was thick with tension. It was a storm on the horizon, a fight that they were both putting off… one that Roman would rather not be caught in. He turned his back on them, picking through the bedrooms in search of Logan. He found him in the master bedroom, digging through their supplies for something.

                “What are you looking for?” He said, treading lightly as Logan took out a first-aid kit.

                “Ibuprofen,” he grumbled, unscrewing the cap and pouring too many into his hand. He sighed, holding the bottle with slightly trembling hands as he said, “For the headache.”

                Roman leaned against the doorway and watched as Logan went to the bathroom, came back with a glass of water, and knocked back at least three pills. When he was done, he clambered onto the king-sized mattress and laid back with a shaky sigh. Roman watched him do this with a worried stare; was Logan just suffering from whiplash? Or was something much more sinister going on? He almost dreaded the answer.

                So, he went to the bed and put their supplies back into their bag. Once it was nicely packed, he set the bag on the dresser, lingering to look at the messy contents of someone else’s life laid out before him. There was a picture of a family pinned to the vanity mirror. A mother and two children. They were smiling. They looked happy. Now, they were either dead or infected by the gas. He took a step away from the mirror, glancing around the room.

                Floral wallpaper covered the walls. A shawl was on the ground, next to an overturned chair. Roman took a breath; what had happened to the people that lived here? There weren’t any bodies inside the house. So, they must have gotten out. They must have escaped. For all he knew, they were on the run, just like Roman and the others. They could be safe, far from this infected town. Far from their infected neighbors. At least, Roman could only hope.

                Turning back to the bed, Roman crawled onto the down comforter, looking down at Logan’s closed eyes and tense expression.

                “How’s your head?” He asked gently, eyeing the gauze on Logan’s head. Blood cut through the white gauze; had it started bleeding all over again? Roman had to hold himself back from reaching out to touch the bandage, just to see how bloody it was. Logan was in pain. He wouldn’t – couldn’t – make it worse. Logan hummed, low and pained, and Roman winced sympathetically. “Not so good, hmm?”

                “I hate this,” Logan said through clenched teeth, he brought up a hand to take off his glasses and rub his eyes. The glasses were set aside on the blankets, and Logan’s eyes stay closed. Once his glasses were removed, Roman could see the small cuts and scrapes on his cheeks and forehead… from the car crash, or from falling in the fields? Maybe both. Logan let out a frustrated sigh, “This… this is _insane_. None of this should be possible”

                Roman licked his lips, a little hesitant to answer. “It’s… surreal, I’ll give you that.”

                “It shouldn’t be,” Logan repeated, sounding a desperate. Was he trying to convince Roman, or himself? Roman didn’t ask. “It… _shouldn’t_ be possible.”

                “But it is,” Roman said. Logan opened his tired eyes to give him a long, hard look. Roman wasn’t fazed by it. He held Logan’s stare as he said, “It’s a little hard to deny what’s happening right in front of us.”

                For a moment, Logan was quiet. Normally, that meant he was thinking of something. But this was different. He looked lost. Unsure in his own conviction. It was odd to see him like that. Logan was always thinking of _something_. Always stuck on his latest and greatest fixation, be it science or fiction. But there he was… silent and barely keeping himself afloat amid the murky waters of their situation.

                Slowly, Roman lowered himself down onto the blankets, lying himself next to Logan quietly. He could feel Logan looking at him. Watching him. Gauging his reaction. Luckily, Roman was a fantastic actor. He kept a plain expression. He had nothing to give away.

                Then, without a word, Logan reached out and took his hand. His hand was cold. Clammy. But Roman would never pull away. Roman laced their fingers together atop the blankets, not daring to turn away from the ceiling. Logan spoke, and it was like he was ushering death into the room. Like they were all on a time-limit. It sent chills down Roman’s spine.

                “If… if this is real,” Logan said, his voice shaking ever so subtly, “Then… then I’m not sure what to do.”

                Roman let out soft, rose-colored sigh. “No one sane plans for the apocalypse.”

                “I could have,” Logan said, sounding surefire in his statement. He squeezed Roman’s hand. “I… _should_ have, I… there’s been diplomatic unrest all around the world.” Roman let out another sigh, but this one was more bored then melancholy. Logan ignored it and said, “We should have seen this coming. We, as in, America. With _that_ presidency laying the groundwork, just those few years ago…”

                Roman gave Logan a sidelong glare. “He hasn’t been the president for like… twelve years.”

                Logan wasn’t deterred, though his eyes were a foggy when he murmured, “But it made an impact on the world.”

                "We were just _kids_ when he was president.”

                Logan turned to look at him, a little unfocused as he whispered, “Are you saying it didn’t _matter_?”

                Roman winced and shook his head. “No, I’m just… I’m not sure what we could have done. We voted him out of office. But… there wasn’t much we, as kids, could have done to fix what he messed up.”

                Logan turned away, speaking to the far side of the room as he said, “I didn’t bring _him_ up just to make our generation look bad, Roman. I’m just saying…”

                “That he fucked our international relationships?” Roman asked quietly. He didn’t mean for the question to sound hostile, but it hung in the room pointedly. Logan didn’t say anything, and Roman tried again. “That the rest of the government just stood by and watched it happen?” Logan didn’t answer, but still, Roman pushed. “That… after all he did… we should have seen it coming? We should have _expected_ this?”

                Logan didn’t speak. Roman almost assumed he was ignoring him. He didn’t like to argue about politics. Not like this. Their joined hands weren’t held tightly together. Logan’s hand had gone slack, like he didn’t have the motivation to hold on any longer. Sitting up, Roman leaned over to check watch expression Logan was making.

                He wasn’t sure if he was relieved or disappointed to see that Logan had fallen into a fidgety, uneasy sleep.

                Roman couldn’t sleep. Not quite yet. This was still uncomfortable. There were strangers in a picture frame on the wall. The duvet was thin and scratchy. They were effectively squatting in someone else’s home… would they get in trouble? Would they even make it out of this place alive? He fumbled with his coat sleeves, fiddling with the cuffs as he stared up at the ceiling. He could only think of the homeowner with a vague, frantic worry lining his stomach. There was nothing to indicate that they were dead… but there wasn’t anything to guarantee their lives, either. It made Roman feel sick.

                How many people had been suffocated by that orange smoke? How many more were dealing with zombie-like virus? Logan called it an infection of the gas. But, even if Logan was the smartest of the group, there was nothing to confirm this theory.

                When the floorboards outside the bedroom creaked, Roman sat up ramrod straight. He looked to the door, ready to defend Logan if the need arose… but there was no infected person shuffling toward them. Nothing pursued them with torn, mangled skin. No zombies reached out their bloody hands. It was just Virgil, leaning against the doorframe with a tired expression.

                “Hey,” he muttered like an afterthought. He looked away, like he didn’t want to see Roman when he spoke to him. Roman quirked an eyebrow at the behavior, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed to give Virgil his full attention.

                “Hey.” There was a pause. Neither man spoke. Roman pursed his lips. “Where’s Patton?”

                Virgil twitched where he leaned in the doorway, taking a deep breath before he spoke. “Taking a nap. He’s… pretty worn out after the crash… and the field.”

Wincing at the mention of the car accident, Roman felt his muscles tense as he grumbled, “Right… you come to pick another fight?”

                Virgil snorted, and for a moment, he almost looked amused. That expression melted down into something dark and anxious as he shook his head. “No, I… we need to talk.”

                Roman frowned, giving Logan’s stiff and uncomfortable frame a quick glance. “Should… should I wake up Logan?”

                “Yeah,” Virgil said, paused, then shook his head. “Wait. No. No… I just… this is something I need _somebody_ to know. Might as well be you.”

                Roman fidgeted, a little uncomfortable, but he slid off the bed anyway. Virgil led him down the skinny hallway and through a new door on the left. The bathroom, it would seem. Roman didn’t like this cloak-and-dagger routine. He would rather have all information out in the open. Even so… he didn’t say anything when Virgil closed the door. He didn’t say anything when Virgil unzipped his jacket. And he didn’t say anything when Virgil let the jacket fall to the floor.

                There, on Virgil’s left arm, was a jagged, messy bite mark. Roman’s blood ran cold; Virgil had been bitten by the infected person in the tall grass. The skin around the bite was surrounded by straining, blue blood vessels. His skin was tinged a darker color from his shoulder to his elbow, each vein straining to fight an infection it had no hope to beat. It was only a matter of time until it spread. Roman narrowed his eyes at him; Virgil had been trying to hide it. He’d pushed Patton away. He’d lied.

                “You do realize,” said Roman, his voice low and serious, “That this is one of the most _cliché_ things to happen in an apocalypse story.” Virgil grimaced, and Roman went on. “I mean… one of the main guys gets bit… he tries to hide it… everyone is betrayed… pretty damn cliché.”

                “I’m not keeping it a secret, asshole,” Virgil snapped. He took a moment to look at his arm – the green pus oozing from the bite marks didn’t look pleasant – and then grabbed a washcloth from the towel rack. He ran it under the water for a second, then used it to wipe at the angry, enflamed wound. “I’m telling _you_ , aren’t I?”

                Roman hummed affirmatively, taking a cautious step back from Virgil. Was he contagious now? The infection had obviously spread… was it spread through bodily fluids? Or would just _touching_ Virgil make him sick? Logan would know what to do. But Roman wasn’t Logan. He wasn’t a science-buff. He didn’t want to experiment.

                “Why aren’t you… telling Patton?” Roman asked, a little miffed that _he_ had to hold Virgil’s deep, dirty secret. “I mean isn’t he the ‘love of your life’ or whatever?”

                Virgil hesitated, still holding the cloth to his arm as he stared at the marble sink pointedly. “I… have you seen him?” He asked, a little desperate as he looked to Roman. “He’s already at the end of his rope. I can’t tell him about…” he looked at his black and blue arm only to look away shamefully. “I can’t tell him about this… not yet.”

                Roman twitched. “Then… if not now, when?”

                Another hesitation, and Virgil set the washcloth aside. He let the silence hang between them like a physical thing, heavy and discomforting as he glared at the countertop. Roman crossed his arms and sat on the edge of the bathtub, watching the sharp line of Virgil’s tense shoulders.

                “You know,” he said softly, “It’s going to spread.”

                Virgil’s hands clenched atop the counter, but he didn’t speak.

                “You’re going to… to become like those other people,” Roman pressed, leaning forward in an attempt to catch a glimpse of the face Virgil was making. He couldn’t see it when Virgil hung his head like this. So, he sat back and sighed. “Virgil… this isn’t something we can just _ignore_.”

                “I know that,” Virgil said, almost like he was irritated. But there was no malice in his voice. He just sounded beaten. Like he was tired of being himself. Like he’d rather be dead than deal with the infection. Roman couldn’t really blame him. “I just… I can’t hurt Patton right now. He’s… he’s not doing so great, okay?”

                Roman felt a protective twinge in his chest. “And what do you think will happen to him when you’re a zombie?” Virgil didn’t answer that, and Roman felt his temper flare. “You know it’s going to break his heart, don’t you?” He sat forward, leaning his hands on his knees as he repeated, “ _Don’t you?_ He _loves_ you, Virgil! And when he sees that you’re—”

                “God dammit, I know!” Virgil shouted, turning to give Roman a trembling, frightened expression. “I know, okay! I know he’s gonna be sad! I know he’s gonna cry! That’s why… I want to just… put it off as long as possible.”

                “Virgil,” Roman said levelly as he gestured to Virgil’s infected arm. “Your arm is turning blue. How long, exactly, do you think you have?”

                With his hands clenching and unclenching, Virgil swallowed thickly and mumbled, “May… maybe… a few days. I just need to figure out how I’ll tell him.” Roman arched a single, skeptical eyebrow, and Virgil rolled his eyes. “I _will_ tell him. Jeez… you don’t need to be on my back about it. I just wanted _someone_ to know. Just… just in case I, uh…”

                “Just in case you turn into a mindless zombie and try to kill us?” Roman supplied dryly. Virgil pressed his lips together in a thin line, refusing to dignify that answer with a reply. Tapping his foot on the bathroom floor restlessly, Roman sighed. “You know… I love Patton, too.” Virgil jolted where he stood, a little affronted, but Roman was quick to say, “Logan is the love of my life, but… Patton is my soulmate. He was my best friend _way_ before he met you. I just…” Roman took a breath, pushing a hand through his hair before he muttered, “I want him to be happy.”

                Virgil softened, his gaze dropping to the floor as he murmured, “I want him to be happy, too.”

                “So you’re just going to pretend you’re fine?” Roman asked, his voice hardly more than a whisper. “We’re… we’re hardly sure what we’re doing, and you’re going to lie to him? Virgil…” he paused, waiting for Virgil to lift his frightened eyes to meet his. When he did, Roman held his stare and said, “This is going to break him, Virgil. Losing you… it’s going to destroy him. You’re all he wants.”

                “I know,” Virgil said, though the quiver in his voice said otherwise. “It’s why… if we can’t find help before…” he glanced at his arm again before looking away. “If… if I can’t get help for this, I… I want you guys to just… deal with me.”

                Roman felt a bolt through his chest. “Deal… deal with you,” he repeated, almost feeling dizzy. “You want us… Logan and me... to…”

                Virgil shrugged, sounding discomfortingly calm as he said, “Hit me over the head with a shovel. Shoot me. Hell, you can suffocate me for all I care… just don’t…” he paused and rubbed the back of his neck anxiously. “Just don’t let me hurt him.” Virgil looked to Roman and their eyes met. Fire and mist. Burning fear and regret seeping into the uneasy air. Virgil took a breath and repeated, “Don’t let me hurt Patton.”

                Roman had to take a moment to compose himself, shaking his head and running his trembling hands through his hair. “This… this is morbid. You… you’re talking about killing yourself.”

                “Now, I’m talking about _you_ or _Logan_ killing me.” Virgil picked up his jacket and pulled it back on. “It’s homicide, not suicide.”

                “To hell with that!” Roman snapped, giving Virgil a dark look. “You can’t just… can’t just expect me to just…!”

                “What?” Virgil asked, zipping up his jacket slowly. “You’ve always hated me, Roman. You can’t tell me you’re not a little happy that I’ll be gone.”

                Roman felt his stomach twist. “No, I—”

                But that was true, wasn’t it? He’d always had a grudge against Virgil. He’d taken Patton away. One of Roman’s best friends just… gone. Swept off his feet by an emo-band reject. It was enough to make Roman bitter, but… it wasn’t enough to make him want to cause Virgil physical harm. Was it? Roman stood up, wringing his hands in the air as Virgil watched him.

                “This is fucked up,” Roman said, a little tremor in his voice. “This is _fucked up_.”

                “Yeah,” Virgil grumbled. “And you’re not the guy with a bite in his arm.”

                Roman winced at that, giving Virgil’s arm a sympathetic glance. Covered by his sleeve, Virgil looked completely normal. Surely, that would change once the infection spread to the rest of his body. Taking a shuddery breath, Roman gave Virgil an uneasy look.

                “Does it… does it hurt?”

                Virgil shrugged, still looking a little detached from the situation as he said, “Not really. My arm is numb from the elbow down.”

                “That doesn’t… sound good,” Roman said dazedly. Virgil shrugged again, as if the infection wasn’t a big deal. He was so oblivious. He didn’t realize that he was wasting valuable time. He had days… maybe only _hours_ to live… and there he was, standing in the bathroom with Roman.

                “It’s whatever,” Virgil said, sounding tired. “I just… wanted to let you know.”

                Roman hesitated before sputtering back to life like a frozen computer. “Thank… thank you, I guess. I’m glad you told me.”

                Virgil grunted – that was probably the best acknowledgement Roman was going to get – and opened the bathroom door. He slunk out into hall, slowly slipping back into the guest room where Patton was curled up under a thick, pink blanket. Roman watched him, seeing the way Virgil carefully lifted the blanket and placed himself down on the bed as slowly as possible. He watched the way Patton snaked an arm around Virgil’s waist and pulled their bodies together, warm and cuddly in his sleep. Roman almost pitied him. He had no idea.

                And Roman wasn’t going to be the one to break the news to him… no, that was Virgil’s job. Roman had to stand back and watch. How long until Patton’s world came crumbling down? A day? An hour? How long could Virgil last against a monstrous infection?

                How long did they all have left?

                Going back into the master bedroom, Roman climbed back into bed. Logan had turned on his side, curled up and quiet as Roman slid closer. He wrapped an arm around Logan’s waist, pulling their bodies flush together. He held his breath, still shaken by what he’d heard. He should tell Logan, shouldn’t he?

                “Virgil’s sick,” Logan’s voice said, echoing eerily in the large room. Roman’s mouth opened, but no words came out. He was stuck. Caught between what he wanted to say… and the truth. Logan pressed his back to Roman’s chest, sounding breathless and broken as he said, “He’s sick… isn’t he?”

                Roman swallowed thickly and murmured, “Yeah. The… the infected person… in the field… they… they bit him.”

                “Transferal via saliva… or blood. Possibly both,” Logan muttered, sounding lost in thought as he laid perfectly still in Roman’s arms. Roman knew what was happening. Once Logan was stuck on something, he wouldn’t let it drop. One fixation traded places with another, but passion never faded. This infection was like a puzzle to Logan… and he’d go out of his way to solve it.

                Finding a little hope in that fact, Roman shifted a little closer until he was comfortably conformed to Logan’s shape. “So? What should we do?”

                Logan was quiet. Maybe he was still thinking hard. Maybe he hadn’t heard Roman speak.

                “Logan,” he tried again, ducking his head to let his lips brush over the back of Logan’s neck as he spoke. “What should we do?”

                Even with all his natural intelligence, with all his expertise, and all his calm rationality…

                Logan didn’t answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... and we're back!  
> We haven't lost any momentum. We're still alive and kicking... for now.
> 
> See you next chapter.


	5. Hysteria

_“Some say you step into the light when you die. I wonder if that’s true._

_I’ve never had the courage to ask Virgil.”_

_– Roman Mend_

+++++

                The sound of air hissing through dying lungs tainted Roman’s dreams, that night. Like a soundtrack set on repeat, a song that he couldn’t get out of his head… the scrape of hands on old, tarnished wood. The pound of unknown persons prying at the doors, the windows, the walls. It was everywhere in his dreams, tainting his uneasy mindscape with flashes of red and black. Needless to say, he didn’t sleep well.

                He woke often, curled against Logan as close as he could get. He would lay there for a moment, listening carefully to make sure that Logan was still alive. Still breathing. Still with him. And, when the warmth of Logan’s body heat melted into him and his heartbeat filled Roman’s ears, he relaxed… and shut his eyes once more. Not to dream, but just to rest. To fool himself into a sense of security.

                They weren’t safe _anywhere_ anymore. Even shut in the house where the infected people couldn’t reach, Virgil was now contaminated. He had an unknown amount of time left. Days, hours… maybe only minutes where he lay in the guestroom, only a few feet away from Logan and Roman. Maybe he would be able to fight the infection. Part of Roman hoped for it. Not just for his own sake, but for Patton.

                Patton would be torn apart if Virgil died like this. He would be inconsolable. Losing Virgil would be losing his last ray of sunshine. And, though Roman wanted to be able to provide that same warmth and light, it wasn’t enough. The love between he and Patton was a different kind. He couldn’t fill in the gap where Virgil fit into Patton’s life. All he could do was stand aside and watch as Patton’s world slowly came crumbling down around him… all while Patton was blissfully unaware it was happening.

                That was how Roman slept. Unhappy. Tense. Afraid. He wanted to keep Logan safe. Logan was the love of his life. The stars in his sky. He wanted to save Logan from all of this, to keep him out of the hands of the infected and get him to the safest place possible. To free him from this nightmare… but could he do that with Virgil still traveling with him?

                “Roman,” Logan’s voice cut through his thoughts, and Roman twitched where he lay against him. Glancing at the window, Roman saw thin, frail sunlight streaming through the blinds. It was morning. He didn’t remember falling asleep again. Not that it mattered. Logan was stiff and thoughtful beneath him as he said, “Listen.”

                Roman did. He stayed quiet. Waiting for Logan to reveal some hidden truth or great discovery. But he said nothing. Silence stretched out between them like a physical thing, bloated and discomforting as Roman held Logan a little tighter.

                Was he supposed to be hearing something? The sound of another far-off explosion? The rev of a car engine? Or another siren wailing endlessly, signaling danger they couldn’t yet see? Because there was nothing. Just dense, heavy quiet. Roman licked his lips and glanced at Logan’s expression, seeing the furrow of his brow and the squint of his eyes as he stared at the blankets.

                “I don’t hear anything.”

                “That the point,” Logan murmured, sounding more clear and coherent than he had yesterday. Roman let out a breath of relief, seeing the deductive flicker in Logan’s eyes as he sat up and put on his glasses. He looked around the room slowly, as if taking in the scenery, before he looked at Roman and whispered, “It’s quiet.”

                A puzzle piece _clicked_ into place in Roman’s brain. The pounding on the walls had stopped. The heavy, rasping breathing was gone. The infected people had left. Either they lost interest or something had distracted them… either way, they were safe. Free to move on, if they so choose.

                However, Logan didn’t look happy. He still looked frustrated where he sat on the bed, touching the gauze that covered his poorly-done stitches. He winced and lowered his hand, glancing at the bedroom door pointedly. Roman followed his gaze, staring out into the hallway with a hint of trepidation.

                “What’s wrong?” he asked, glancing back at Logan to see his lips tense in a thin, serious line. Roman sat up, reaching out to touch Logan’s back gently. Comfortingly. The stern expression on Logan’s face didn’t leave. Roman tried again, “What’s that face for?”

                Logan’s eyes flicked away from the door, landing on the blankets instead. “It’s… Virgil.”

                Roman’s hand flexed where it sat on Logan’s back, pressing into the fabric of his coat while Roman looked away, almost unnerved by the weight in Logan’s words. “Ah… what about him?”

                “The… the infection,” said Logan, his voice uncharacteristically shaken. He looked at his hands where they sat in his lap as if they held the secrets of the world, frowning at the road-burns on his palms and the glass-made cuts on his forearms. “I don’t know what it is.”

                Roman blinked, giving Logan a sharp look. “None of us do.”

                “But,” Logan lifted his eyes, meeting Roman halfway with eyes that glittered with uncertainty. “I… I’m supposed to be the one that _knows_ things. I’m supposed to be the smart one. I’m su… supposed to be the one to… to figure things out.”

                Trying to laugh off the frantic worry in Logan’s voice, Roman gave his back a fond pat. “Are you calling the rest of us stupid?”

                Logan wasn’t amused. He looked away, sliding off the bed to circle the room restlessly. “I… I wanted to use my degrees and doctorate to cure cancers. To combat hereditary diseases. Alzheimer’s, Huntington’s, cystic fibrosis… and now,” he paused, his breath shaking in his lungs as he looked at the walls blindly. “Now there’s… this infection. This… _disease_ caused… by the gas.”

                Roman watched him pace, shifting to sit on the edge of the bed while Logan tried to think through the problem. “When… when we first saw that infected person outside the car… you said it might be a neurotoxin.”

                “A neurotoxin would lose its effect after a time,” Logan said tiredly, his steps harried and concise. “Plus, neurotoxins aren’t transferred through saliva or blood. That’s how Virgil was most likely infected. You said he was bitten?” Roman nodded, and Logan clicked his tongue irritably. “Transferrable. It’s not a neurotoxin… it’s a virus.”

                Roman blinked. “A virus. Doesn’t that – you can make vaccines for those, can’t you?” He asked, a hint of hope seeping into his words as Logan continued to stalk the room like a caged animal. Logan muttered something low and frustrated, but Roman couldn’t understand it as he leaned his elbows on his knees and repeated, “We could make a vaccine, right? A cure for this… this…” he waved his hand flippantly. “Infection-thing.”

                Logan hesitated, his pace wavering for a just a moment before he fell back into step. “That would take research. A lab, controlled analysis… if I could have a sterilized lab made _just_ for the purpose of exploring this infection, then maybe…”

                Roman watched him continue to pace. Once he was on something, he wouldn’t stop. He was fidgeting with the zipper of his jacket. One of his most common thinking tics. It was good to see Logan acting like himself again, but this was too far out of their reach. They didn’t have a controlled lab. They didn’t have teams of researchers at their disposal. Virgil was infected _now_ and they had to do something.

                “We don’t have time for that,” Roman said pointedly, seeing the way Logan paused and gave him a startled look. “Virgil’s arm is turning blue.” Logan made a face, turning away to glare at the wall pointedly. Roman wrung his hands a bit, trying to shake off the anxiety that clung to him. “We don’t exactly have an entire lab at our disposal. We need to solve this _now_.”

                “Then what should we do?” Logan asked, a little frantic as he held out his arms helplessly. “Cut of his arm?”

                Roman blinked; would that work? Simply cutting off the infected limb? It would be disgusting, of course, but it might save him.

                “Roman!” Logan shouted, his tone disbelieving and breathless. “We are _not_ cutting off Virgil’s arm!”

                “Stop shouting!” Roman hissed, glancing toward the hall anxiously. Logan ignored his hushing, flying back into his frantic pacing.

                “The infection is already in his blood,” Logan hissed as he rounded the room. He looked stuck, caught in a spiral he couldn’t possibly resist. “Cutting off his arm won’t solve anything now!”

                Roman knew that tone in his voice… that stiff mark of his steps… it was almost impossible to turn off Logan’s brain when he was hyper fixated on something. Logan tried to push back his hair, but he caught the edge of his bandage and flinch away from his own hand.

                “It’s… it’s an infection. I’ve never seen anything like it. Have… have you noticed anything different about Virgil?” He asked, his voice pitched toward honest curiosity. “Any sort of symptoms?”

                Roman sighed, unsure of how he could steer Logan back onto the main issue. “Uh… his arm is turning blue.”

                Logan paused, then went to the desk on the far side of the room. He dug around for a bit, pushing private letters and bills to the side in search of something. Roman watched him for a moment, a little confused by Logan’s actions. That was, until Logan tugged a pocket-sized notebook out of a drawer. Roman rubbed his eyes tiredly.

                “What are you doing?” He sighed, eyeing the focused glint in Logan’s eyes as he started to scribble in the little pages.

                “Taking notes,” Logan said, as if this was obvious. He muttered to himself as he wrote, and Roman was sure he didn’t even know he was doing it as he grumbled, “Discoloration of the arm…”

                “Logan. Please. We need to do something. We need to figure out how to get out of this goddamn town.” He stood up and crossed the room, plucking the notebook from Logan’s hand. He shoved it into his back pants pocket. Logan almost made a move to take it back, but Roman took his hands and held them tight. He held Logan’s gaze as he said, “I know you want to solve this. I know you like a mystery. But we need to put ourselves in a safe situation first.”

                Hesitating for a moment, Logan glanced down – probably thinking about whether or not he wanted to steal back his stolen notebook – before he took a deep, shaking breath.

                “We…” he paused, licked his lips, and started again. “We need to do something about Virgil.”

                Squeezing Logan’s hands a little tighter, Roman leaned forward to press their foreheads together. “We can’t save Virgil if we don’t save ourselves first.”

                There was still a hint of unease in Logan’s stance as he said, “But… we don’t know how long he has left. What if this infection kills him before we find help?”

                It was likely. Very likely that Virgil wouldn’t last the next few days. Only a few hours after he’d been bitten, half of his arm had turned a sickening bruised-blue. It was anyone’s guess how much worse he’d gotten over the night. Was he even alive down the hall? Roman stiffened. Had… had he attacked Patton some time during the night? Were they both infected now?

                Logan pulled his hands from Roman’s grip, wrapping his arms around him instead. There, he held on tight. Roman knew this kind of hug. The kind that meant Logan’s brain was wild with thoughts. The kind of hug that begged for Roman to hold him tight and help him calm down. So Roman held him, pressing his cheek to the top of Logan’s hair and closing his eyes tight against the world.

                For a moment, they were safe. Just for a moment, they were just standing in each other’s arms. Normal, if not a bit eccentric. A couple that had settled into domesticity. A couple that was hinging on the edge of becoming something _more_ … but just a little nervous to take the step. For a moment, they were just two people. The world wasn’t ending. Their friend wasn’t dying. They were fine.

                Until Patton screamed.

                “Roman!” He screeched from down the hall. Roman and Logan lurched out of each other’s arms, both tense and startled as a raucous _slam_ of furniture came from the guest room. “Logan! R-Roman!”

                Grabbing the first heavy object he could find – in this case, the lamp on the desk – Roman gave Logan a knowing look before they raced out of the room. They stumbled to the door, hearing a hint of a scuffle in the room. Roman gripped his weapon. His hands were shaking. His heart was pounding. But he wouldn’t freeze. Not this time.

                Throwing open the door to the guest room, Roman saw Patton backed up against the wall, looking at Virgil with wide, distrusting eyes. Virgil was sitting on the bed, his jacket pulled away to reveal his left arm. Patton must’ve taken it off. Virgil was scrambling to put it back on. Roman felt sick at the sight of Virgil’s infected arm. It was completely discolored now… blue and green and grey all the way down to his fingers. Like blood wasn’t flowing to the limb anymore. For all they knew, that’s what was happening.

                “Patton,” Virgil said, holding his good hand out in surrender as he tried to console Patton. “It’s okay. It’s okay… I’m fine.”

                “You’re _not_ okay!” Patton screeched, his voice pitched toward hysteria as he pressed his trembling frame to the wall. He was shaking like a leaf. He looked betrayed. Roman couldn’t exactly blame him. Patton’s eyes were flickering to Roman and Logan, then back to Virgil. For a moment, Roman and Patton’s eyes met. He saw recognition in his eyes. Then, a stinging, bitter gasp left Patton’s lips. “Why aren’t you surprised?”

                Roman pressed his lips together, unsure of what he should say. He gripped the lamp in his hands tight, giving Virgil a sidelong look. It wasn’t any use. Virgil was staring down at the bedsheets, apparently ashamed. Roman almost – _almost_ – felt sorry for him. It wasn’t Virgil’s fault he’d been attacked. He’d been trying to defend Virgil. It had been done in good conscious.

                Fidgeting a little bit, Roman let his eyes slide back to Patton, seeing the glitter of betrayal in his blue, blue eyes. Roman almost turned away, ashamed, but he didn’t have the heart to look away. Not when Patton breathed, “You… you _knew_ about this.” Then, Patton turned to Virgil, his eyes watery and furious as he yelled, “You told _Roman_ , but you didn’t tell _me?”_

                Slowly and carefully, Virgil slid off of the bed, tired and quiet as he said, “I didn’t want to scare you, Pat. This whole thing is just –”

                “No!” Patton shouted, stomping his foot as he shook his head wildly. “No, you don’t just…! You can’t! I’m not…” he took a shaking breath, sounding dangerously unstable as he yelled at Virgil. “I’m not some innocent little baby! I’m not someone you can just keep in the dark! You can’t do _this_ and say you were trying to ‘protect’ me!”

                Virgil flinched away from the sharp tone, still only holding up his good hand. Roman vaguely wondered if he was even able to lift his infected arm. Probably not. Virgil could only take an uneven step forward as he said, “Patton, baby, sweetheart, I didn’t want you to –”

                “No!” Patton cried again, his words coming out shaky and uneven through trembling lungs as he sputtered and fought – unsuccessfully – to hold back tears. “You can’t… you can’t do this! You can’t lie to me! Not like this! You’re the… the only p-person I want! The only person I _love_ , Virgil! If you hadn’t said ‘no’ three months ago, you would be my husband!”

                Roman blinked spastically, glancing back at Logan in surprise. Logan looked doubly confused. He had no idea was Patton was talking about. He’d proposed to Virgil… three months ago? And none of them knew? Virgil had rejected him… maybe Patton was embarrassed. Maybe he’d felt crushed. Maybe he just wanted to sweep it under the rug. But now, with the way his face was red with anger and his hands were shaking with fear, it was clear that Patton wasn’t completely over it.

                “You wanted to take things slow,” he said, low and dangerous as he glared at Virgil. “And I can do slow. But I still love you. I would _never_ hide something like this from you. I would _never_ do this to you. I… I wouldn’t…”

                Virgil shook his head, trying to reach out to Patton. Patton flattened himself against the wall, still huffing and puffing as he struggled to compose himself. Virgil took a step back, trying to look as unthreatening as possible.

                “I didn’t want to scare you,” Virgil said again, his voice softer than ever. Roman could see the flicker of fear in his eyes. Dark, dark storm clouds of anxiety and pressure. Knowing exactly what he _wanted_ to say… but knowing that Patton didn’t want to hear it. Virgil swallowed thickly, looking a little paler than usual as he said, “We’re going to leave this house. We’re going to get help. And they’ll find a cure. And I’ll be fine.”

                He was lying. Lying through his damn teeth. Virgil knew it. Roman knew it. Logan knew it. Patton… did he know? Or was he fooling himself? Trying to convince himself that it was true? Maybe he wanted to be fooled. Maybe, after all of this, Patton _wanted_ to believe in a happy ending.

                There, pressed to the wall, Patton’s hardened expression began to crack. Tears slowly started rolling down his red, red cheeks. They streaked and made trails in the dried dirt and blood on his cheeks. Roman wanted to take him into the bathroom. He wanted to wash the mess off his face. He wanted to wash away the past two days and pretend the explosion never happened. He wanted to kiss Logan’s forehead and wipe away the cut in his skin. He wanted to take a magic wand and wave away the infection in Virgil’s arm. But that wasn’t possible.

                No one could erase reality.

                Patton was crying. Quiet and shuddering as Virgil walked over to him. Virgil reached out, and Patton fell against him, wrapping himself up in Virgil and holding tight. Like he’d disappear if Patton didn’t hold on tight enough. Roman and Logan watched from the doorway; they were watching a limited romance. A love story with a time-limit.

                “I didn’t want to scare you,” Virgil breathed into Patton’s wild, curly hair. Patton cried into his shoulder, grasping desperately at the back of Virgil’s shirt. Holding tight, holding fast… like he could squeeze the infection away. No such magic existed. Virgil merely passed his good hand through Patton’s hair, murmuring, “I… didn’t want to scare you.”

                When something grasped Roman’s elbow, he jumped and spun on his heel. Logan gave him an odd look before nodding toward the hall. They stepped out of the room, eyeing the way Virgil and Patton still clung to each other in the guest room.

                “Well,” Logan said lowly, his voice a little pointed as he glanced at Virgil. “What do you think?”

                Roman blinked. What the hell kind of question was that? “What do I think about… what?”

                “Virgil,” Logan hissed, his eyes shining oddly behind crack glasses lenses. “I mean… his arm. Did it look like that last night?”

                Roman twitched where he stood against the doorway, trying to avoid Logan’s eye. “No. It wasn’t that bad.”

                “It’s spreading,” Logan said knowingly. “It’s spreading fast. If we want him to survive, we need to get out of here and find help.” His eyes lowered, his eyes looking far away and his words heavy with meaning as he murmured, “Even… even if we do find help, we don’t… we don’t know if anyone will be able to help him.”

                “Hey,” Roman said softly as he stepped forward to cup Logan’s cheeks and lift his face to meet his eye. “We need to stay positive.”

                Logan made a face. “I’m not exactly a posterchild for optimism.”

                “That’s why you have me,” Roman only laughed, leaning forward to kiss Logan softly. His lips lingered on Logan’s, a soft, shaky worry rippling through them as he kissed Logan again. This one was a little desperate.

                Logan’s arms snaked around Roman’s waist, humming into the kiss as he leaned himself into Roman’s embrace. Roman pulled back slowly, letting his eyes flutter open to see the dilation of Logan’s pupils against dark, deep blue irises. He didn’t smile. Roman didn’t either. He could feel the unease in Logan’s hands. The way that he pressed himself to Roman, afraid and needy. Roman didn’t dare let go.

                “I’ll be optimistic for you,” he whispered, seeing the uptick of Logan’s lips as he tried to smile. His lips were trembling. Even with Logan’s iron-clad composure, he was afraid. Cracking at the edges. Tearing at the seams. Roman pressed a kiss to his cheek. “I’ll… be positive… for the both of us.” He punctuated his words with kisses to Logan’s face. His cheeks, his nose, his forehead… Logan closed his eyes and breathed deep, like he was trying to commit Roman’s words to memory. Just so he didn’t forget anything. Roman leaned back, waiting for Logan to open his eyes. When he did, Roman held his gaze, saying “You just need to get us to safety.” He cocked his head to the side, playing coy as Logan warily eyed him. “You’re the smart one, aren’t you?”

                At that, Logan’s façade finally shattered. His eyes fluttered shut as he leaned into Roman, gripping Romans shoulders anxiously. Roman could feel his shuddery breathing, his trembling hands, and the hitch of his voice when he said, “I _am_ smart.”

                “I know you are.” Roman nodded, rubbing Logan’s back as he murmured, “We’re going to get out of this,” he said, his voice far more convincing then he felt. He glanced back into the guest room, seeing the sickening blues and greens and grays that colored Virgil’s left arm. He pressed his lips together, feeling something tighten in his chest… worry? Pity? Maybe both. He turned away to press a kiss to Logan’s hair. “We’re all going to get out of this just fine.”

                Logan sighed a bit, his breath warm on Roman’s shoulder as he said, “We need to get out of here.” Roman hummed affirmatively, feeling Logan’s hand slip into the back pocket of his pants. Roman quirked an eyebrow, almost ready to tug Logan into the master bedroom for a little fun… only to have Logan pull his pocket notebook out of the pocket and slip out of Roman’s arms. He flipped it open, looking at the single note he’d made, before he frowned. “I need to keep track of the infection… who knows? Maybe if we have more information when we find help, they can find a cure faster.”

                Roman nodded, watching the way Logan’s eyes glittered with interest. That was his Logan. The genius he knew and loved. He could listen to Logan wax poetic about science for hours… but they didn’t have that kind of luxury. He leaned in the doorway of the guest room, knocking on the door until Patton and Virgil turned to give him a tired glance.

                “Pack up, lovebirds,” he said softly, eyeing the way Patton gripped Virgil a little bit tighter. Virgil… he just looked tired. Like he’d come back after a long day of working, only to be told he had to take another shift. Roman frowned; he’d just woken up. Was the infection really that draining? Roman took a step back into the hall as he said, “We’re heading out in a few minutes.”

                “H-head… heading out?” Patton repeated owlishly, finally untangling himself from Virgil to scramble into the hallway. “Why so soon?”

                “Because Virgil is sick,” Logan said bluntly as he pushed his notebook into his own back pocket. He looked to Patton, his eyes sharp as he crossed his arms over his chest. “And we need to get him to a hospital as soon as possible.”

                Looking a little frantic, Patton spun on his heel to give Virgil a wide-eyed look. Virgil stared back. Pale. Exhausted. If the thought wasn’t so terrifying, Roman might have said that Virgil looked dead on his feet. Patton must’ve seen it too, because he sprung into action, grabbing his and Virgil’s backpack and throwing things back into it. Virgil’s jacket. A blanket from the bed that Patton was assumedly stealing. Another first-aid kit that Patton had found in the house. Roman turned away as he went back to the master bedroom, retrieving his own bag.

                “We should eat something before we go,” Patton said as he met Roman and Logan in the hall. Virgil hung back behind them, following obediently when Patton took his hand and dragged him along. Roman glanced at Virgil’s tired eyes as they descended the stairs, but didn’t make any move to say anything about them. Patton spoke up again, “I’m sure there’s cereal or something in the kitchen.”

                “He’s right,” Logan said lowly, his words terse and pointed. “But I think we should eat light and get moving. Time is of the essence.”

                Behind them, Virgil snorted. “Last time we rushed, Roman ended up falling asleep behind the wheel.”

                Roman almost snapped at him. Almost. But he didn’t have the energy to yell. Nor did he have the stomach for it. The first floor was quiet as the grave. Save for the creaking of the wooden floorboards under their feet, all the previous days’ clattering and scratching was gone. They were safe and unknown… until they went outside. Roman tensed at the thought, following Logan into the kitchen.

                They couldn’t make coffee without electricity, so they simply took water bottles from the fridge and downed those while they ate dry, corn cereal around a small table. Roman eyed Virgil over the table, seeing the way he ate with his non-dominant hand slowly. With his left hand infected, he was forced to hold a spoon in his right hand. It looked nothing short of awkward as he slowly shoveled food into his mouth. He didn’t even look hungry. It just looked like he was eating for the hell of it. Just to see what it would be like to fill his stomach. It put Roman a little off his breakfast to watch.

                After ten minutes of tense silence broken by the sound of crunching and chewing, Logan pushed away from the table and searched the kitchen counter. There was a purse by the refrigerator. Logan dug through it. No one said anything, watching in slight interest as Logan produced a set of car keys. He held them up, almost like a sign of a victory. He glanced at the table, eyeing all of the house’s occupants as he held up the keys.

                “Who wants to drive?” He asked, pointedly looking at Patton and Virgil. He avoided looking at Roman. It stung. Like a little shove to the chest. But Roman couldn’t exactly _blame_ him for being a little unsure of Roman’s driving. He’d almost killed the three of them. Logan was smart… but he was slow to trust. Roman would have to earn back that trust behind the wheel before Logan would let him drive again. Logan sighed, “I need to watch the map and navigate, so it’ll have to be someone other than me.”

                Across the table, Virgil shifted uneasily. He looked too tired to drive. Patton glanced at him too, reaching out a hand to brush a fond thumb over Virgil’s cheek. Virgil smiled at the touch, but the expression didn’t reach his eyes. He looked… misty. Like he wasn’t himself. Far, far away and hardly holding onto his physical self.

                “I guess I’ll do it,” Patton said softly, his voice a little shaky. He glanced at the side door, giving the cabinet in front of it a long, hard look. “What if… what if there are more of those people out there?”

                “I can throw my backpack at them again,” Virgil suggested, his voice low and tired even then. Roman gave him a sidelong look, and Virgil quirked an eyebrow. “What? It worked in the fields.”

                “Yes, well,” Logan said as he dropped the car keys in Patton’s open palm. “You had both arms at your disposal in the field. This is different.” He paused, took out his notebook, and started to scribble something on the page. “You… you _do_ have limited mobility in that arm, do you not?”

                Looking a little confused, Virgil gave his left arm a quick look. “It’s… heavy. It just feels really, really heavy. Like I can’t lift it. Kinda… like it’s not my arm anymore.”

                “Virgil,” Patton said softly, reaching out to hold Virgil’s hand. Virgil smiled and shrugged off the worry in Patton’s voice, trying to seem nonchalant.

                “It’s fine,” He lied. “I’m fine.”

                Pursing his lips, Roman grabbed his and Virgil’s bags and moved them to the door. “If there are more infected people outside, I’ll take care of them. You just get to the car.”

                There was a hint of hesitation in Patton’s eyes, but once he gave Virgil another look, his gaze turned steely. He was determined to save Virgil. Determined to keep him alive. Roman gave Logan a sharp look, one that conveyed nervous hope. Logan didn’t say anything. He simply thinned his lips, holding his notebook tightly. Fear was rampant. Insecurity was rife. They didn’t have the luxury of doubt. Now, they had to drive forward on plans that were hardly constructed prior to execution.

                Taking a breath, Roman gripped the cabinet that blocked the door, lifted it off the ground, and carefully moved it to the side. The quieter he could be, the better. If they could get out of the house undetected, leaving would be easier. When the cabinet was moved, Patton, Logan, and Virgil were all waiting behind him with baited breath. Roman swallowed thickly as he leaned against the door, looking out the small window at the yard. Far, far beyond the edge of the front yard, an infected person stumbled along the road. Other than that, they were free to get to the car that waited in the driveway. Roman’s heart almost exploded with relief.

                “Okay,” he whispered. Why was he whispering? He cleared his throat and tried again. “Okay… Patton, stay close to me. You need to unlock the car and let us in.”

                Patton nodded, his hands shaking as he held the keys tight. “Right. No problem.”

                Roman glanced at Logan, seeing a fragment of uncertainty behind his glasses. It was washed away with a blink, leaving him with nothing but a picture-perfect Logan. Composed. Level. Ready for anything. Roman loved him. Roman _loved_ him. He took a deep breath and opened the door, sprinting out of the house and toward the car.

                Patton kept up, matching his footing with each bound, leaping over a toppled garbage can and skittering to a stop next to the car. He fumbled with the locks, pulling at the car door in vain. Roman kept an eye on their surroundings. His blood ran cold when he saw another infected person in the neighboring house. They were standing in the window, watching with glossy, dead eyes as they reached uselessly toward them. Roman had to tear his eyes away and open the passenger door for Virgil when the locks finally _clicked_.

                Virgil fell into the car, almost like it was a relief to be sitting again. It made Roman nervous. Just how fast was the infection taking him? How much longer did he have? Was more than just his arm turning black and blue? Did it hurt? Roman didn’t ask as he climbed into the back seat with Logan.

                Patton started the car with shaking hands, watching a slow-moving trio of the infected people wander into the yard. They’d made too much noise getting into the car. Patton shifted the car into Drive, then hesitated.

                “Go,” Virgil said, sounding a little hoarse as he gestured forward. “Just go. Just… drive.”

                Patton gripped the wheel and swallowed audibly. “I… those people used to _be_ someone. If… if we’re going to find a cure, we can’t… we can’t hurt them.” He glanced back at Roman and Logan, looking for backup. Roman froze when those sky-blue eyes landed on him. “We… we shouldn’t hurt them, right?”

                Roman licked his lips, looking to Logan for support. Luckily, Logan came to his rescue, reaching up to place a hand on Patton’s shoulder. “We need to save ourselves first, Patton. We need to get Virgil out of here.”

                “Yeah,” Virgil said, glancing at the approaching infected strangers. Three of them so far… but surely, there were more on their way. They needed to go _now_. Virgil gave Patton a long, hard look. “Just _hit it_ , Patton. Try to steer around them if you can.”

                Nodding shakily, Patton gripped the steering wheel a little tighter as, without warning, his foot slammed on the gas. The wheels screeched on asphalt and everyone in the car winced as the car rocketed forward. There was the brutal _thud_ of bodies against the hood of the car, then the _crack_ and _crunch_ of bones as the car followed through with the first law of motion. The car lurched as they ran over the infected strangers, and Patton was visibly shaken as he pulled out onto the main road.

                “Oh god,” he repeated, sounding more horrified with each rendition as he blindly drove. “Oh god… oh _god_ … did… did I kill them?” He didn’t turn away from the road, but at this point, Roman doubted he even saw where he was going. Good god, he was shaking so badly… Roman wouldn’t be surprised if Patton melted into a puddle on the floor of the car. “Did I… oh god… those people…”

                In the passenger seat, Virgil let out a long, tired breath. “You didn’t have a choice, baby. It’s okay.”

                “It’s not okay,” Patton breathed, still violently shaking as he steered the car onto the wrong side of the road. He was avoiding another infected person that had wandered into the road. He still looked pale and horrified as he repeated, “It’s not okay.”

                Roman was quiet, watching the way Patton drove through the town and back onto the main highway numbly. The poor man was in shock. It wasn’t surprising… it wasn’t every day he ran people over. And, as a man of medicine, it went against all his principals. He wanted to _heal_ people. Not hurt them.

                In the backseat, Roman felt guilt fester in his stomach. He should’ve driven. He should have insisted on it. He should’ve been behind the wheel. Then, there would be no one to blame but him.

                Glancing at the back of Virgil’s seat, Roman could see the way the veins along the column of his neck strained, trying to fight the infection. They were stained a deep, dark blue… standing out starkly against pale, pale skin at the nape of Virgil’s neck. Slowly, Virgil’s head lolled back against the headrest. He let out an exhausted sigh. Roman gave Logan a sidelong look, watching the way Logan furiously scribbled notes on Virgil’s condition. He was so wrapped up in trying to document the infection and finding a cure… he didn’t even realize that, with each passing minute, Virgil was looking more and more like one of those mindless, wandering zombies.

                Quietly, Logan wrote. Patton drove. Virgil started to doze in the passenger seat. From his place behind Virgil, Roman could almost imagine that they were on a calming, casual road trip to parts unknown. The people that wandered into the road and through the grasses of ditch denied that dream. Patton shivered each time he passed one of those infected people, casting heavy, meaningful glances at Virgil as he carefully steered around the mindless wanderers.

                How long did they drive like that? An hour? Two? Maybe… but –

_Hello. Roman Mend, here. Sorry to interrupt. But… looking back, I don’t remember. Looking back… that whole time was a bit of a blur. Virgil, the infection, and… and Patton. Poor Patton. He was trying so hard. And I… god, the whole thing was such a mess. Everything and nothing happening in the span of one week._

_The things we saw. The things we wish we didn’t… it’s still going to haunt me. I’m sorry… I… I told myself that I’d write from the outside. Just to give it perspective. And… and I was doing so well. I made it this far… but, I think that you, as a reader, need to know just… just how terrified we all were. You need to know that we were scared of each other. Of ourselves. Of the world._

_You… you know that… don’t you? You do, don’t you?_

                – Patton drove along a winding highway, his tense grip on the steering wheel only lessening when the roads were clear and no one wandered into his periphery. Logan spoke up every now and then, telling Patton to take a certain exit or follow the road in another direction. North and East, Logan said. North and East. They would find help. They would find someone, _anyone_ , to help them.

                After what seemed like forever, Logan set his map aside and sat forward in his seat. He had that glimmer in his eye. One that, for some reason, put Roman on edge. It was innocent curiosity. The light of Logan’s livelihood. Roman knew that shine very well… this was the first time it made him nervous.

                “Virgil,” he said levelly, watching the way Virgil snapped himself out of his sleepy daze and sat up in his seat. He casted a glance at Logan over his shoulder, looking more displeased than anything as he quirked an eyebrow. Logan clicked his pen and tapped the pages of his notebook restlessly. “I was wondering if I could ask a few questions.”

                Virgil’s brow furrowed as he looked at Patton, and Roman noticed when Patton shifted in his seat uncomfortably. Virgil’s eyes flicked back to Logan. “What kind of questions?”

                “Symptoms,” Logan said simply as he tapped his notebook again. “I want to know what the infection is doing to you.”

                This time, Patton’s foot hit the gas a little harder. Roman felt the car jolt a bit, the engine revving nervously, only to calm down when Patton realized what he’d done. Virgil gave him another look, lingering a little this time, but turned back to Logan with a tired sigh.

                “Well… I’m tired. That’s… the big thing, I guess.”

                “Lethargy,” muttered Logan as he jotted this down. “Any fever?”

                “No.”

                Logan made a note. “Muscle aches?”

                “A little, I guess.”

                Another note. “Headache?”

                “I’m starting to get one,” Virgil said, his tone light and amused as Logan glared at him. At that, Patton smiled a little. Virgil shifted in his seat, giving Logan’s notebook a hard look. “What is that for, anyway?”

                “For researched purposes.” Logan didn’t look up as he continued to write something down. “We need to know symptoms and afflictions if we’re going to find a cure.”

                “Oh.” Virgil turned around in his seat, watching the road for a bit. He was quiet when he said, “I can’t taste anything anymore. When we ate breakfast … I couldn’t taste it.”

                The car went quiet, and even Logan looked a little lost when he lifted his head to give Roman a worried look. The cure… it would take time to make, wouldn’t it? It would take time… and research… and testing… that couldn’t all be done within the next few days. That would be impossible, wouldn’t it? Virgil didn’t have long, and this research… would it just go to serve someone else? Someone who came after Virgil? Someone who still had a chance? Roman didn’t ask.

                Suddenly, Patton sat up a little straighter, his eyes focused on something in the distance. Roman almost asked him if he was okay, but Patton abruptly said: “Hospital.”

                Behind him, Logan jolted and sat forward, looking through the windshield frantically. “Where? Is it close?”

                Roman saw a red, glowing medical cross in the distance. They still had power. Maybe they had a backup generator. That meant warm food. Warm beds. Running water. Medical attention. Roman’s heart swelled when Patton looked for an exit ramp.

                Logan grabbed Patton’s shoulder. “Maybe there are people there who can help us. Someone might be able to help Virgil.”

                And Virgil… he didn’t speak. He simply watched their steady approach to the hospital. He looked… distant. Like he wasn’t really _Virgil_ anymore. Just someone holding his place until Virgil came back from god knew where. He looked paler than before. Like he might be sick at any moment.

                Reaching up to touch his shoulder, Roman leaned forward a bit to murmur, “Are you… okay?”

                Virgil made a low, discomforted noise as he shifted in his seat. He glanced at Patton, seeing the way he and Logan were arguing over road signs. After a second of thought, he let out a long, tired breath and whispered, “This… it’s messing with my brain. I’m… everything is all blurry.”

                Flinching away from Virgil, Roman found himself pressed to the back of his seat. The infection was spreading to his brain… his neck was turning blue. He was sick. Falling apart. Falling at a rate that even Logan hadn’t anticipated. Roman wrung his hands as the car approached the hospital.

                There were cars in the lot. Dozens and dozens of little metal boxes lining old, cracked asphalt. Roman could only wonder if all of their occupants were actually safe and alive inside the hospital. Patton was shaking – with anxiety or excitement – as he pulled up to the entrance. Large, glass windows and haunting gray pillars… a vision of a formidable castle, rather than a hospital. Patton parked the car.

                “Okay,” he said, his voice shaking as he smiled and unbuckled his seatbelt. “Okay… lets go see if…” his voice trailed off. His eyes stared toward the hospital. Roman immediately knew why.

                People stood behind the glass doors. Normal, healthy people watched them from inside the hospital. Roman saw men, women, children… police guards and doctors were all huddled together inside, watching the car with eyes filled with fear. Or maybe it was hope. Maybe they thought this car – the car that they’d stolen – was their last hope. Maybe these people were just as afraid.

                Maybe, Roman feared, not even the hospital could be their sanctuary.

                Patton was out of the car in an instant, flying to the front doors and tugging at the handles. The people inside backed away from the glass. Patton pulled. The doors didn’t budge.

                “Hey!” Patton shouted, slamming his hands against the glass. “P-please! You have to let us in!”

                Roman climbed out of the car, watching Patton’s feeble attempts to open the door. The people behind the glass watched him with wide, frightened eyes. One of them almost moved to unlock the doors… but others stopped him. He was held back behind the masses, pulled back into the crowds and drowned by collective fear. Roman’s heart sank; this was a dead-end.

                “Please! Please, let us in!” Patton shouted, his hands pounding on the glass. Roman stood by the car, torn between taking Patton away and joining him. Maybe if they cried. Maybe if they screamed. Maybe… maybe. Roman flinched as Patton screamed, “Please! He’s sick! You need to let us in!”

                Behind the glass, a few doctors looked at each other. Roman saw the flutter of white lab coats. The insecurity in their faces. Uncertainty… and then another flash of fear running through the crowd. Roman watched this unfold quietly, eyeing the way Virgil remained seated in the car. He hadn’t even moved to open the door. Roman’s stomach clenched; was he even _able_ to open the door? Was he really that drained already?

                Still at the glass doors, Patton kept crying and pounding at the glass. Was it possible for him to break the glass like that? Roman shivered at the thought as he glanced back at the parking lot behind them. There were rows and rows of cars… and slow, lagging shapes moving between them. Roman’s eyes went wide. The hospital was surrounded by the infected people. No wonder they wouldn’t let Patton inside.

                “Please!” Patton sobbed, his hands leaving smeared smudges as he pulled at the handles uselessly. He looked back at the car, waving for Roman to join him. “C’mon! Help me!”

                Roman wetted his lips, glancing back at the slowly advancing people in the lot. He looked back to Patton. “Patton…”

                The passenger car door opened, and Roman stiffened when he saw Virgil’s right hand hanging on the door tightly. The veins in his boney hands were so dark, they almost looked black under his skin. His breathing was heavy, like he’d been running from something. But he was just sitting there, looking up at Roman tiredly. Exhausted… and he hadn’t even moved.

                “Just…” Virgil closed his eyes, and Roman winced at the sight of bruised, purple eyelids. Virgil scrubbed his shaking right hand over his face. “Just… maybe if you leave me here, then…”

                “Getting _you_ help was the reason we stopped,” Logan snapped from the other side of the car, his hand leaning heavily on the roof of the car as he casted a wary glance at the parking lot. His expression turned dark as he saw the infected people stumbling toward them. Patton was making more than enough noise to attract their attention. At this rate, they were sitting ducks. Logan huffed and marched around the car, heading for the hospital doors as he said, “Patton! That’s enough! They aren’t going to let us in.”

                “They have to!” Patton shouted angrily as he slammed his hands on the doors. Over and over… Roman winced as one of the doors earned a large, rippling crack under Patton’s abuse. Patton didn’t mind the panicked faces of the people in the hospital. He didn’t listen or acknowledge them as they tried to wave him away. He just kept crying. “They have to let us in! Virgil is… Virgil…!”

                “He’s as good as dead if we stay here!” Logan shouted, trying to raise his voice over Patton’s sobbing as he grabbed Patton’s arms and dragged him a few steps back. “We have to go! Patton, _stop_!”

                They struggled for a moment, and Roman darted toward them, taking one of Patton’s arms. They managed to pull him back to the car, kicking and screaming, and Roman felt a dull ache in his chest as he shoved Patton into the backseat. Virgil’s door was still hanging open, and Virgil looked like he was falling asleep where he sat. Roman pushed his dangling arm back into the car and shut his door. Logan scrambled into the drivers seat, buckling himself in starting up the car as the infected masses started to close in.

                Logan’s eyes turned steely as he gripped the steering wheel. “Hang on.”

                He punched the gas, sending them flying forward through the crowds and bowling through the infected people like they were some kind of armored tank. The car lurched and rattled as a few people hit the hood and went flying back, tumbling to the ground as Logan steered the car toward the exit. Patton gasped when another person, bloodied and staggering, hit the side of the car as they went past… but he didn’t cry.

                Virgil moaned whenever the car rattled, his voice nothing more than a shadowy groan. Surely, if Patton had been in his right mind, he would’ve consoled him. If Patton hadn’t been shaking the way he was, he would have said something. He would have reached out. He would have been… Patton. But he wasn’t. There, in the backseat of a strangers’ car, huddled in Roman’s arms and shaking with _something_ – anger? Fear? Regret? – Patton wasn’t himself.

                He was a stranger in his own body. Trembling and unsure of what they were going to do next. Virgil was dying. Logan was glaring out the windshield, unable to check the map to see where they were going. And Roman…

_And I… I was…_

                Roman wasn’t sure what he was. He wasn’t sure what to do anymore. He didn’t know how to comfort Patton. He didn’t know what to say to Logan. He wasn’t sure how to help Virgil. At this point… he was drowning in uncertainty, only barely keeping his head above water as he took one slow, trembling breath after the other.

                If this was the end of the world… what was supposed to come after?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *glances at Virgil's black and blue arm*  
> Hello, hello... what do we have here?
> 
> See you next chapter!


	6. In the Rubble

_I went to a Priest. He blessed me._

_I’d never felt so cheated._

_– Roman Mend_

+++++

                Fog laid heavy on the lowlands, that night. It was the swift justice of an oncoming autumn. Roman watched it progress through the car window, eyeing the mist that clouded the horizon and made the world blur together. He felt… something, he was sure. Something. But… not nothing. It was more than nothing. He felt hollow, but more physical. Drained, but heavy. Wrung out and pulled in each direction… only to be held still. He sighed and closed his eyes.

                Logan was a quiet driver. The kind that made people wonder if he was alive where he sat, staring out the windshield with dull, bloodshot eyes and a white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel. He looked less like Logan Mend… and more like a puppet wearing a mask. A doll that blindly drove them onward, into the evening fog.

                Next to him, Virgil slept. He’d been sleeping for hours. Ever since they’d left the hospital, he’d been fairly unresponsive. Every so often, Patton would reach out to touch his shoulder, his cheek, his hair… and Virgil would let out a breathy, tired moan. Aching and sad, Virgil was fighting a losing battle. And, as he slept, they all knew what was coming. An inevitability that none of them wanted to recognize.

                As the night wore on, Virgil was whittled away by the infection. It left less and less of him with each passing minute. His breathing was labored and shallow. He slumped in the passenger seat. The bruised, infected blood had reached his face, turning his cheeks a hollow, aching gray-blue. He no longer stirred when the car hit a bump. He didn’t react when Patton touched him, anymore. Little by little… Virgil was chipped away, leaving a dead man in his place. A nameless, infected face that none of them recognized.

                Roman had always had a grudge against Virgil. He’d always been bitter about losing Patton to a stranger. Patton was his best friend… and then Virgil swept in, stealing Patton away with a small, shy laugh and a well-placed compliment. But this didn’t mean that Roman _hated_ Virgil. No… it was a grudge. A rivalry of sorts. A fight for attention. A quest to be recognized.

                But Roman never actively wished _harm_ upon Virgil. No to win Patton’s attention. After all, Roman didn’t actually _need_ his attention that much.

                Roman was madly in love with Logan. Logan had constellations in his eyes, and he could name each one. Logan held the universe in his palm and explained it without issue. Logan walked on water and made it look easy. Logan was _everything_ to Roman… so why had Roman been so jealous of Virgil? Why had he wanted to keep Patton to himself?

                Had he been scared? Scared to let Patton love and be loved? Afraid to be overshadowed by an outsider? Someone who hadn’t been part of their little trio of friends… it felt wrong. Like a shadowy intruder coming to sing lullabies to the children. Even so… Virgil stayed. Virgil fell in love with Patton, and Patton fell harder. They stared at each other with love-sick smiles and airy giggles. Virgil was softer when he spoke, and Patton was firm in his resolve.

                Now… was all of that bonding, all of that evolving… was it put to waste? There was hardly anything left of Virgil. Even if they could find a cure, would he remember Patton? Would he remember the way they loved each other? Would he remember _anything?_ Or would Virgil just… be? Would he just live and breathe… and not feel? Would he be a living doll, with nothing left in him? Roman had no idea of knowing.

                When the car shuddered, Roman blinked himself out of his stupor. They were driving along the shoulder of the road… slowing down to a gradual, sleepy crawl. After a few, slow seconds, Logan parked the car and turned off the headlights. Roman blinked and looked at Logan, seeing the way he took his hands off the steering wheel and rubbed his eyes. Roman glanced at Patton, only just noticing that Patton had fallen asleep against the car door.

                “Tired?” Roman whispered, catching Logan’s eye in the rearview mirror. His blue eyes were misty… with fatigue, or emotion? It could be both. Logan lowered his eyes, breaking their contact. He unbuckled his seatbelt. Roman did the same.

                “I need to get out,” Logan breathed tiredly as he climbed out of the car. Roman followed him, closing the door as gently as he could to keep from waking Patton and Virgil. He rounded the car quietly, watching the way Logan leaned his hip against the hood of the car and stared out at the endless, foggy fields. For a moment, he was quiet. Roman let him be such. He didn’t say anything about Virgil or Patton. He didn’t say anything about the hospital. He was just… quiet. And the silence was heavy.

                After a while, Roman sighed. “Do you have any idea where we are?”

                “South Carolina,” said Logan. There was a pause, and then he said, a little quieter, “I think.”

                Roman nodded, as if this information was somehow beneficial. It wasn’t, really. South Carolina was a coastal state… if they kept driving, they’d reach the sea. But what use was that now? They already had fresh air. What they needed was safety. Shelter. Help from someone more prepared to handle the end of the world. And Virgil… Virgil needed a miracle.

                Stretching his legs, Roman leaned more of his weight against the car. He let his head loll to the side, watching Logan under a blanket of stars, eyeing the anxious glint behind his glasses. Roman blinked slowly, watching for something. Something… but he wasn’t sure what. He simply watched. Logan didn’t speak. Maybe he didn’t know what to say… maybe he was at a loss for words… maybe he just didn’t want to be the one to break the silence.

                Leaning over a bit, Roman dropped his head on Logan’s shoulder. Beneath him, Logan stiffened… and let out a long, tired sigh. Roman felt Logan press a cheek to the top of his head. They propped each other up, not quite holding… but itching for contact. Confirmation that they were, in fact, okay. They weren’t. Not by a longshot. But the self-deception tasted good.

                “Where are we going?” Roman asked after a moment, his eyes closed against reality. Logan shifted a bit, his hand snaking out to grab Roman’s.

                “I don’t know,” Logan admitted in a tone that made Roman feel sick. Logan didn’t ‘not know’ things. Logan knew _everything_. Logan was a genius. Logan was… _Logan is_ … “We need to keep going,” he said softly, his voice a hollow ring of what it used to be. “But… we’re running out of gas.”

                They could steal another car. Roman blinked; steal _another_ car. He never thought he’d steal a car in the first place. Before the explosion, before the mist… none of this had even been in his realm of possible life-choices. It was crazy, the things they were doing. Driving across the country in search of shelter and hope. Running on empty and carrying dead-weight as they scrambled to survive. Smiling a bit, Roman chuckled to himself. Logan squeezed his hand, clearly amused.

                “What’s so funny?”

                “This,” Roman said as he lifted his head and gestured to the world around them. “All of this. The running, the infection, the zombies –”

                “Not zombies,” Logan interrupted, sharp and terse as he eyes Roman warily. Roman shrugged that off.

                “Right. Not zombies. But… all of this is… it’s just…” he laughed again, but it didn’t _feel_ real. It didn’t feel like he was laughing. Everything felt tight. He felt suffocated by his own lungs. He wanted to dig into his chest and get rid of his feeling… to pull it out and throw it away. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t just cut out his fear. He was trapped with it. Trapped in, in, in himself… Roman let out another breath of laughter, unaware of the baffled, uneasy look Logan was giving him. “We stole a car!”

                Logan shifted, glancing at the car for a moment before he muttered, “Yes, we did.”

                “It’s not ours,” Roman said, gesturing to the vehicle. Logan narrowed his eyes, clearly not following roman’s train of thought. Roman gestured to the car with more emphasis, striving to convey his desperate emotion. “It’s not ours! You just… found the keys, and we took it! What kind of people _do_ that?”

                Looking off to the side for a moment, Logan opened his mouth to speak… only to shut it. He shook his head, throwing his hands into the air, exasperated and tired. “We… we _needed_ to get out of that town.”

                “I know,” Roman nodded, letting out another peal of laughter. “I know! That’s why it’s funny!” Logan looked at him, a little perturbed, but Roman only laughed harder. “We stole a _car_ , and that’s not even the most interesting thing that’s happened today!”

                For a second, Logan stared at him. Logan was watching him with those narrowed, skeptical eyes, almost like he was judging Roman. That was, until he cracked a smile. “We stole a car.”

                Roman giggled a bit. “We sure did, baby.”

                “And… and we broke into a house yesterday.”

                Laughing a little harder, Roman nodded. “Yeah. What the hell is this? Like… I can’t believe…”

                “And we… we couldn’t even get help!” Logan finally laughed, his voice high-pitched and tense as he spread his arm wide. Roman smiled wider, and Logan huffed a laugh. “Those… those security guards at the hospital… were _useless_ ,” Logan laughed as he shook his head. Roman laughed harder.

                “They were! They looked at us like _we_ were the ones going to save _them_!” Roman laughed until his eyes watered and his lungs hurt, watching the way Logan started to laugh in earnest.

                “They… they wouldn’t even let us in!” Logan giggled hysterically, his hands shaking as he threw his hands in the air. “They… they had guns and everything! They could’ve fought off the infected people! But they wouldn’t let us in!”

                Roman was nearly doubled-over in laughter, slapping his hands on his knees as he tried to keep himself from keeling over. The night was young and their brains were half-wired. Anxiety and adrenaline-strung blood was pumping through their veins. Were they crazy? Maybe.

                But god _damn_ it felt good to laugh.

                Hearing Logan laugh until he was crying was glorious. Almost like they were just having a night at home, joking until there were tears of mirth running down their cheeks. Laughing at the world and their worries and their troubles… until it didn’t mater anymore. Until _nothing_ mattered anymore. Just them. Just Logan and Roman, against the world.

                “And… and Virgil!” Roman gasped, looking up to catch Logan’s gaze. Logan’s face was red, his eyes wet with tears, and his grin wide and borderline senseless. Roman waved to the car loosely, “Virgil’s _dying_!”

                Logan laughed so hard, he tumbled to the ground, hardly holding himself up as he screamed through laughter, “And we can’t save him!”

                That was it. Roman couldn’t breathe. He fell with Logan, both of them laughing until they coughed. Laughing until it hurt. Laughing until the pain cut through and they were just crying. Crying with laughter… then crying, crying, crying… clinging to one another as they huddled close on the asphalt road. Logan’s fingers dug into his arms, holding fast as they caught their breath.

                Together, drowning under the fog of a cool evening, they took deep, shuddering breaths as the glow of hysteria faded… and left nothing but hard reality. Roman finally felt the road digging into his back. He felt the bite of Logan’s fingernails through the thin fabric of his shirt. The sound of their breath, loud and echoing in his ears. The hot-then-cold tears staining his face. Real, heavy, damning… no escape from this.

                “Virgil is dying,” Roman repeated, his voice soft. Against him, Logan was stiff. He didn’t say anything. He held onto Roman, sweat on his forehead cooling in the air, quiet and breathing slow and careful. Roman gripped him tightly, soaking in Logan’s warmth as he murmured, “He’s… dying.”

                “Do you… do you think it hurts?” Logan asked, his breath hot and sticky on Roman’s neck. “If… if there’s a way to make it easier… to make it hurt less…”

                Roman’s mind flickered back to his first conversation with Virgil in the bathroom. Back when he first learned that Virgil was infected. Virgil had talked about ending his life… asking Roman to kill him before something _worse_ than death occurred. Hitting him with a shovel… smothering him… would that be better than letting him live with this? Would it be better than letting him become one of those mindless wanderers?

                Logan pushed himself up and off the ground first, his arms and legs shaking as he stood up and started to pace. Roman watched him walk in circles, agitated and thoughtful. Maybe he was thinking of how to ease Virgil’s pain. But… he saw just how fast Virgil was fading, didn’t he? He saw that Virgil was hardly there anymore. Hardly a day had passed, and Virgil was gasping out the last of his life.

                “Maybe…” Logan mumbled to himself as he walked, “If we could find something… some kind of momentary fix. Is that possible? Some kind of drug? Like penicillin… would penicillin do anything to this?”

                “Logan,” Roman said, trying to insert himself into Logan’s path to physically stop his train of thought. “Logan. Stop. We don’t have time for this.”

                “If it’s _bacterial_ , there’s a chance,” Logan continued, lost in his own thoughts as he stopped and ran into Roman. Once he was stuck in Roman’s arms, Logan looked up with a furrowed brow and a frown on his face. “But, if it isn’t, would it be a waste of time? If this infection is so _aggressive_ , we –”

                “Logan.”

                “We need to do _something…_ if we could find another hospital, find some penicillin…”

                Roman gripped Logan’s arms harder, seeing the far away, thoughtful glint in his eyes. “Logan, listen to me.”

                Shaking his head furiously, Logan’s hands fidgeted with Roman’s sleeves, picking and pulling at the fabric of his jacket sleeves as he said, “Would an injection work? If an injection works, then maybe an IV drip would be better. But I don’t have any medical training. Would Patton be willing to do it?”

                “Logan, _please,_ just –”

                “If there was penicillin in the hospital, it could be locked up; normally drugs are kept under lock and key.” Logan paused, his lips trembling as he muttered, “If… if there are people in the hospital, like the other one… they could help us. But… but they didn’t let us in,” Logan murmured, sounding alarmed and dizzy as he repeated, “They didn’t let us in.”

                Taking a deep breath, Roman grit his teeth and gave Logan a violent shake. “Stop! Stop _talking_!”

                Logan’s head snapped back, and he looked a little whiplashed as he reached up to adjust his glasses. For a moment, they were both quiet. Each avoiding the others’ eyes as they breathed deep and hard. Finally, Logan muttered, “Your mood is like a pendulum this evening.”

                Roman blinked, releasing Logan so he could take a calming step back. “Wh… what?”

                “You’re swinging between laughing and screaming…” Logan said, his hands shaking as he pushed a hand through his hair. He gave Logan a hard, sidelong look. There were still tracks on his face where tears marked his skin, looking more like an artistic ploy than real emotion when Logan smiled. “We’re all falling apart.”

                “I’m not,” Roman said, taking another liberal step back. He told Logan he’d be optimistic. He said he would try to keep positive, just for Logan. To keep them balance. But it was hard to keep his poise when the ground seemed to shift under his feet every other second. Taking another calming breath, Roman shook his head calmly. “I’m not falling apart.”

                Logan raised his eyebrows, giving Roman an interested look as he tilted his head a bit. “Please don’t lie to me, Roman. It’s not appreciated at this point.”

                Roman didn’t respond to that. He had none. Logan didn’t wait for one.

                Putting his hands on his hips, Logan let out a long, tired sigh. “Okay… okay.” Like he was psyching himself up. Like he needed to mentally prepare himself to get back into the car. Roman didn’t say anything as Logan scrubbed his hands over his face, furiously trying to erase the past fifteen minutes. The laughter was gone… but the twin-trails of tears were still there. One more shaking, shuddery breath later, and Logan nodded to himself. “Okay. Find a hospital, find penicillin… maybe hold off the infection.”

                Roman winced; that was just a means to an end, wasn’t it? What good would ‘holding off’ the infection do? It would just prolong Virgil’s suffering. Did they want to do that? Put Virgil through unknown amounts of pain… just to see if they could maybe – _just maybe –_ find a cure?

                “Penicillin,” Roman repeated tiredly, seeing the way Logan’s eyes flicked to him uneasily. Roman swayed where he stood, trying to seem relaxed as he said, “Is that really the best we can do? Because, honestly… I don’t think it’s worth it.”

                Logan twitched where he stood. “That… that doesn’t make sense.” He paused, looking at Roman sharply. “We… we have to do something. What else would we do?” He blinked, some brand-new idea shining in his eyes. “Amoxicillin, maybe… is Virgil allergic to penicillin? If he’s allergic to it, then –”

                “Logan,” Roman sighed as he dropped his face into his hands. “Do you hear yourself?”

                Again, Logan twitched, shifting where he stood irritably. “I’m… of course I hear myself. I’m trying to think of how we can help Virgil.”

                “It’s a little late for that!” Roman said, loudly as he spread his arms wide. Logan leaned away from him, giving Roman a dark look. Trying to back-peddle out of that comment, Roman held his hands up in surrender. “He’s… he’s barely holding on as it is.” Logan looked away. He didn’t want to hear this. None of them did. But it was true. It was happening. Every hour. Every minute. Every second… Virgil was less and less… until he’d be nothing anymore. Roman took a step forward, reaching out to touch Logan’s arm. “Do you honestly… _honestly_ think that… that penicillin will do anything for him?”

                Jerking his arm out of Roman’s grip, Logan opened his mouth to defend himself. To defend his theories. To defend Virgil. But no words came out. He closed his mouth, pressing his lips together in a tight line. Roman waited for a response, watching the way the mist rolled over the road silently.

                The weight of the quiet felt physical. But it didn’t crush them. It simply hung over them like a living thing, intimidating and angry as Logan and Roman stood staring at each other. Each second they stood there, Virgil was losing himself. Every second they wasted, Patton plunged further and further into despair. Roman wanted to move, but he couldn’t break himself away from Logan’s eyes.

                “He could survive,” Logan said, his voice trembling as his eyes burned into Roman’s. “He could survive this. If we… if we get help. If we try to hold it off as long as possible.” He paused, swallowing thickly. Roman watched the flutter of Logan’s eyelashes as he breathed, “He… he will survive.”

                “Okay,” Roman said, not having the energy to deny Logan any longer.

                “Tell me he’ll live,” Logan ordered, stepping forward to grab Roman’s collar and pull him down to eye-level. Roman didn’t flinch. He didn’t pull away. He went willingly, allowing himself to be manhandled as Logan repeated, “Tell me he’ll live.”

                Taking a deep breath, Roman closed his eyes. “He’ll live,” he said.

                _I’m sorry to interrupt again… but… I lied._

_I lied that day. I lied so many more times… but this one meant something. Logan… Logan doesn’t remember this day anymore. Logan doesn’t remember a lot of things anymore. Logan isn’t quite… Logan… anymore. But this lie… this lie started everything. It started false-hope in Patton. It started burning denial in myself. It started Logan’s desperate fight for the cure…_

_All because of those words. Those damn words._

                “Tell me… tell me we’ll save him,” Logan begged, sounding so, so unlike himself as he cupped Roman’s cheeks and held their faces just a breath away from each other. His voice cracked halfway through his final request: “Tell me it’s going to be okay.”

                “It’s going to be okay.” Roman repeated obediently. He opened his eyes, watching Logan’s frantic eyes with a calm, tired distance as he said, “We’ll save him.”

+++++

                Virgil was asleep when they got into the car, his breathing a gravelly, hazy whisper as his lungs fought to cooperate. Patton was awake, though. Awake and staring off into the distance beyond the headlights as Logan started up the car and pulled back onto the main road. Roman sat beside him, eyeing that glint behind Patton’s scratch, broken glasses. He looked angry and frustrated; a wrestler prowling the ring, waiting for someone to fight.

                It was an odd sight, seeing Patton geared up for a fight. He was always the one to pull people aside and assure them that violence and shouting wasn’t the answer. However… _everything_ was odd, those days. Nothing fit with the norm of their interactions. Virgil was dying. Logan was at the brink of hysteria. Patton was bubbling with frantic emotions. And Roman…

                _And I…_

                Roman reached out between them, offering Patton his hand. It almost always put Patton in a better mood. But this time, Patton gave his hand a sad, tired look… and turned away, staring out the window instead of meeting Roman’s eye. Maybe he was mad that Virgil told _him_ about the infection first. Maybe he was just bitter about the people barricaded in the hospital. Maybe he was just tired. Maybe it was all of those things. Roman was not omnipotent… but if he were, he probably wouldn’t want to know what Patton was thinking, anyway.

                So, Logan drove. Long into the misty, tired night, he drove. They passed abandoned farmhouses and empty chapels. On the horizon, a city glowed… was it populated, or were they walking into false hope? None of them knew. Logan kept an eye on the lights as they drove, muttering to himself as the hazy lights reflected on the clouds.

                After a while, Patton took a deep, aching breath, and whispered, “He’s dying.”

                Roman stiffened, looking to Logan for assistance. Unfortunately, Logan looked lost, too. He simply gripped the steering wheel and gave Virgil’s limp body a sidelong glance before he banished his eyes to the road again. Wringing his hands, Roman struggled to find the words as he watched Patton’s profile.

                “He’s sick,” Roman answered softly, watching the way Patton twitched where he sat, twiddling his fingers restlessly. Roman watched the movement, a little unsure of himself as he said, “But we’re going to get help.”

                There was a pause, one that hung in the stale air of the car uncomfortably. Then, Patton spoke, and it was a low, irritated mumble. “When?”

                Roman almost wanted to ignore that question; Patton wasn’t acting like himself. It was like someone had lit a fire under him and he couldn’t sit still anymore. Hot and irritated, Patton glared out the window, still picking restlessly at his fingernails as he pointedly looked the other way. Roman glanced at the rearview mirror, catching Logan’s eye in the reflection. Their connection didn’t last long. Logan looked back to the road before any silent messages could be exchanged. It seemed as though Logan wouldn’t get helping him out of this one.

                Cracking his knuckles one by one, Roman took a deep, tired breath. “Hospitals aren’t normally that far apart,” he said gently. “It’s just taking a while to find one.”

                Patton stiffened, his words coming out through clenched teeth. “So… you’re saying we probably _missed_ one.”

                Again, Roman received a flicker of Logan’s sharp, blue eyes in the mirror. But no words. Roman kept his eyes facing front as he said, “Probably.”

                For a moment, Patton was quiet. He turned to give Roman a long, hurt look. Roman quirked an eyebrow. What was _that_ for? Was he frustrated that they couldn’t reach a hospital? Angry that Roman wasn’t sure? He couldn’t tell. He could only watch as Patton, nearly trembling, leaned forward and gripped the back of Logan’s chair.

                “Why… why aren’t the two of you more upset?” He asked in a soft voice. He didn’t want to wake Virgil. At this point, Roman would be surprised if _anything_ woke him up. Even so, Patton’s voice was unnervingly quiet as he spat, “Why don’t you _care?_ ”

                Roman winced; did Patton really think that little of them? Maybe he was just on edge. The previous night hadn’t exactly been restful… then again, Patton was not one to get irritable when he was tired. He was more giggly. More huggable. More cuddly than anything else… this was like a stranger had taken Patton’s place, wearing his skin and snarling through his teeth.

                Logan’s hands gripped the steering wheel hard. “We _do_ care, Patton. I wouldn’t be trying to find a hospital if I didn’t. I’m driving the damn car, aren’t I?”

                Slowly, Patton sat back. That unfamiliar, dark look came over his face as he frowned and fidgeted with his glasses. “You _don’t,_ ” he said again, almost under his breath. He said is just loud enough for it to be heard. Deliberately. Just to spark something. Luckily, Logan didn’t rise to the challenge. Roman could see his jaw working though, the clench of his teeth as he fought to hold in a biting comment while Patton grumbled, “I saw the two of you outside the car.”

                Roman hesitated, tripping and falling into Patton’s trap as he replied. “Outside the car?”

                “I saw you,” Patton repeated, sounding angrier as he said, “You were _laughing_. You—” he stopped short, taking a shuddery breath before speaking through his teeth. “You don’t care what happens to Virgil.”

                It was a landmine. Roman knew that. He could feel the pressure plate under his weight, the faint _click_ as psychological matter and stress was taking its toll. Patton wasn’t himself. Virgil was fading. And Logan… Logan simply drove, not adding anything to the loaded conversation. If there was a way to soothe the situation, Roman didn’t see it. It was a ticking timebomb of a conversation… but Roman didn’t have the knowhow to diffuse it. So, he sat back in his seat, eyeing the ripple of city lights on the horizon.

                Maybe Patton had seen the lights, too. Maybe he had run out of energy for arguing. Either way, he was quiet, not acknowledging the sign that pointed out a hospital off the next exit. Logan took the exit, eyeing the gleam of hospital kept alight by emergency generators. Roman sat quietly, folding his hands in his lap and listening to the rumble of the car engine, a soft, even purr that growled under the sound of Virgil’s slow, rasping breaths.

                Roman could see infected people stumbling throughout the lot outside the hospital. Pale, pale skin and loping, staggering steps. Part of him wanted to know if Virgil would end up like those people. Would the bruised, sickening color of the infection cover his entire body, discoloring him and turning him into a walking malformity? Shivering at the thought, Roman leaned forward to sneak a glance at Virgil’s sleeping face. He looked peaceful as he slept… probably grateful for respite from the pain of the infection. Lucky bastard. The rest of them had to suffer through reality while Virgil got to sleep the last of his life away.

                But, even as he thought it, it didn’t seem right. It felt like those bitter, frustrated thoughts… just didn’t have any fire left in them. He wasn’t angry at Virgil. He wasn’t angry at _anyone._ He was tired. So, so tired… but no amount of sleep would fix it. This was a tired that went down to the bone. The tired that sank its teeth into his muscles and gripped tight, making him regret each movement and blink. A tired that went to his soul, rattling him to his foundation and oozing out through his ears. Tired didn’t begin to cover the level of apathy he was beginning to approach… he was sliding down a dangerous slope, and he knew it was too slippery to climb back up.

                Logan tried to steer around the crowds of stumbling, infected persons, but eventually, there was no room left to dodge. Regardless, he slowed the car to a snail’s pace and continued to drive. Roman watched people bounce against the exterior of the car like lost, confused bumper cars. Some stumbled back, some actually wandered into the cars’ path. Stupid, but they were probably unaware of the stupidity of the choice. They probably weren’t aware of _anything_ with the way they staggered around.

                The closer they got to the drive-up entrance of the hospital, the harder it was to see past the crowds of infected people. They were more effectively blocking the car now, not even stepping back when Logan revved the engine and knocked a few of the people onto the ground.

                “Logan,” Roman said, wincing as a woman in a torn, dirty blouse stumbled and fell under the car. The vehicle lurched as Logan, stoic and tight-lipped, rolled over her. Roman could _swear_ he heard the _crunch_ and _crack_ of bones under the tires, but it was probably his imagination. If anything, all he could hear was the groan and rasping breathing of the infection crowd outside the car. Leaning forward a little, Roman grabbed Logan’s shoulder and shook him a bit. “Logan… try… try not to hit them. They might be –”

                “We need to get to the entrance,” Logan snapped. Another few people tumbled to the ground. Logan pumped the gas, sending them rolling over the bodies with a motion that made the car rock wildly.

                Roman slid of his seat a bit when the car rocked, falling into Patton’s lap. Patton didn’t notice. He was staring out the window with a face of utter horror. Someone was leaned against the window, smearing blood across the glass inches from Patton’s face. Slow. Deliberate. Trying to grasp the smooth edges of the glass and pry their way in. Patton was pale. He almost looked like he was about to vomit. Roman wouldn’t blame him.

                When yet another person was carelessly mowed down, Roman grit his teeth. “Logan! These people are… what if they’re aware? What if they’re _feeling_ the car hit them?”

                “They can’t,” Logan said. Without any facts or evidence. Without discussion. No interpretation. “They won’t. We need to focus on getting medicine for Virgil.” He glared out the windshield at the front doors of the hospital. Broken windows. Shattered glass and sparking electrical wires skittering on the floor. There wasn’t a living person inside. At least, none that they could see past the crowds of slow-walking infected people.

                Patton shivered in his seat, leaning away from the window and into Roman’s side. “Don’t… I don’t want Virgil to… to be like that.”

                “He won’t be,” Roman lied. He was doing that an awful lot today. Lying. Bold-faced despite the facts. He wrapped an arm around Patton’s shoulders and squeezed, glancing at Virgil’s slack expression and closed eyes.

                Black and blue veins strained at Virgil’s cheeks and around his eyes. The discoloration was spreading from his neck to his cheekbones. Roman could only imagine that it was _everywhere_ now. How long was left? How futile was this trip to the hospital? What if they couldn’t get out of the parking lot with all the people around the car? What if they were trapped in a car trying to escape zombies with a man who was about to be a zombie himself?

                Hands slapped against the windows, desperate and trying to find entrance as Logan gripped the steering wheel and revved the engine. The tires protested against he blockades made by the infected people. The shattered font doors of the hospital seemed far away. Too far to reach… but what was the point? The hospital was overrun by these shambling, struggling people.

                “Logan,” Roman said urgently. “The hospital is _full_ of those infected people. We can’t go in there.”

                Logan twitched, his gaze flickering from Virgil to the hospital a few times before he said, “But… Virgil—”

                “We’ll find another way,” Roman said stiffly. The car jolted when a large man with burns down the right side of his body slammed against the side door. Roman was knocked sideways against Logan’s chair, and he grasped Logan’s shoulder for support as he said, “Logan! We need to get out of here!”

                In the backseat, Patton was starting to cry. It seemed the earlier fire in his attitude had simmered out. Now he was left a trembling flame, covering his ears and closing his eyes tight against the moaning and wheezing of the undead people attacking the car. The car lurched again, and this time, Virgil’s expression scrunched up as he let out a long, pained groan.

                “The… the medicine,” Logan said, his eyes still trained on the large, fractured glass panes of the hospital lobby. He looked distracted, oddly distant from the predicament they were trapped in. “If we can’t get into the hospital… we’ll have to find another one. But will he last long enough to _find_ one?”

                “Logan,” Roman said, trying to shake him out of his thought process.

                “And, if we _find_ another hospital, will the penicillin be enough? We should… should find the medicine _now_ to test it.” He looked toward the front doors. “If… if we can get through that hallway then maybe—”

                “We’ll find a _different_ hospital!” Roman snapped, shaking Logan’s shoulder as the crowd around the car grew. If given any more time, the car would never be able to get through the crowd. Shaking Logan’s shoulder again, Roman tried to convey urgency as he shouted, “Logan, we need to _go!_ Hit the gas! Get us the hell out of here!”

                Surprisingly, Logan obeyed. Roman saw the slam of his foot against the gas pedal. The car tires squealed against asphalt. Patton screamed at the jarring sound, curling in on himself as the car jolted and rocked violently. And Virgil… Virgil only grimaced, his eyes closed and expression pained as Logan mowed down countless of the helpless, infected people in the crowd.

                “Shit, shit, shit!” Logan chanted, his eyes wide behind bent glasses frames as he ran over a young man. The car tilted. A degree too far. A second too soon. Too many people under the car and not enough leverage to keep themselves level. The metal frame of the vehicle groaned and creaked… only to slam the wheels back to the asphalt. Logan was shaking as he continued to kick the gas. “Fuck! Why… why won’t it…!”

                The car shot forward with a shock, sending Roman slamming against the backseats with a force that made his head snap back painfully. Logan swerved, panicking in the crowded lot. They sideswiped a parked vehicle… but Logan didn’t stop. He didn’t dare slow down. His adrenaline must’ve been surging. He was shaking so violently, Roman almost assumed he was having a breakdown. Patton cried. Virgil was quiet. And Roman… Roman craned his neck to look back at the hospital.

                The crowds remained, still reaching and stumbling towards the car as they flew down the highway. The red cross of the hospital still glowed red among the sad, gray skies. A false hope for those who were still alive. A trap in freedoms robes.  Roman held a hand to his aching neck, glancing down at Patton as he pressed his face to his lap.

                “We’re going to die!” Patton whispered tearfully to his knees, his voice three octaves higher than normal. Roman didn’t know what to say. He looked to Logan for help, catching a glimpse of Logan’s tear-streaked cheeks and shivering shoulders. Roman sat back in his seat. He looked out the window. He didn’t dare look at Patton as he cried, “Oh my god… we’re all going to die.”

                Neither Roman nor Logan had to heart to deny it.

+++++

                When Logan pulled the car to a stop, it was in front of a small house nestled along the highway. They hadn’t seen any infected people wandering along the highway for almost an hour before Logan pulled over. The night was stretching on forever, dark and unpredictable. They needed safety. Roman felt like an entire week had pass since they left the comfort of the house that morning. Now they were going to break into another house. They were officially vagabonds.

                Logan parked the car wordlessly, pulling into the dirt driveway and glancing at the quiet house and untouched property. Dry, brittle grass swayed in the late-evening breeze. A silent sign that the world was still turning and time still ticked away as their little band of friends fell apart. Patton didn’t move from his seat; he obviously didn’t want to be the first person to step out of the car. Roman sighed.

                “I’ll check the house,” he sighed softly. Virgil had been the one to check the first house. But now that Virgil was black and blue all over, it was unlikely that he could even take two steps before collapsing. No one argued with Roman as he stepped out of the car and shut the door quietly.

                He felt his blood pressure surge. Fear and adrenaline worked in tandem as he walked around the front of the car. A child’s aluminum baseball bat was laid in the front yard, forgotten or discarded by its owner. Roman grabbed it, choking up on the bat a bit as he crept toward the house slowly. Slow, methodical steps marked his path up the front walkway. The front door was slightly ajar, and the windows of the house were still intact.

                Maybe the owners of the house had gotten out safely. Maybe they’d avoided the gas and fled to safety further up the coastline. Maybe… but then again, miracles were rare. So, with shaking hands and shuddering breaths, Roman pushed the front door open slowly. He couldn’t hear anything aside from the steady thud of his own heartbeat in his ears along with the rush of blood through his veins.

                The house was quiet. It would be cliché to say that it was eerily silent… no, this house was just quiet. Quiet in the sense that it was devoid of life and movement. Silence in the form of lacking human beings. Roman reached for a light switch, jumping when the living room lights _clicked_ to life. A sofa and a loveseat sat undisturbed in front of a dim television. No infected people wheezed and hissed from the corner, and when Roman crept into the kitchen, he found that it, too, was empty.

                Even so, he was meticulous when he went through each bedroom that lined the hallway. A small child’s bedroom lined with sports paraphernalia and a tutu hanging from the bedframe was void of movement – though Roman did make a point to check under the bed and inside the closet. A laundry room with a large dog kennel in the corner was quiet and dark. A leash and a muzzle hung from the wall, but the dog was nowhere in sight. The master bedroom was quiet, but Roman still held his bet high when he turned on the lights. Nothing. No infected people. No monster dogs waiting to lunge at him.

                The house was empty.

                Letting out a sigh of relief, Roman went back to the front door. He saw Logan slump with relief when he stepped over the threshold and into view. In the backseat, Patton looked hollow and tired as he opened the door and clambered out of the car.

                Roman met Logan at the car, catching a glimpse of his red eyes and chapped lips. He’d been chewing his bottom lip a lot… a thinking mechanism, Roman supposed. Regardless, Logan’s lip looked ready to bleed with the abuse, even though Logan didn’t mind it.

                “Virgil,” he said softly, glancing back at the car warily. Quiet settled over the three of them, and Roman gave Patton a sidelong look. Logan scratched his brow. “I… I find it doubtful that he can walk. He’s hardly aware of himself.”

                Patton stiffened and gave Logan a strange look. “We can’t leave him out here.”

                “I wasn’t suggesting that we do,” Logan shot back, irritation lacing his tone as he fidgeted with his glasses. He looked to the house… then back to the car where Virgil was supposedly still sleeping. Uneasily, Logan pushed the heel of his hand through his hair. His voice was low and thoughtful as he mumbled, “Leave him in the car, risk him losing his faculties overnight… let him into the house, risk him trying to attack us in our sleep… can’t leave him in the car. Patton will be upset. _Shouldn’t_ bring him into the house, it’s a risk…” He took a shuddering breath as he took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “Roman?”

                They had no choice. Roman knew exactly what Logan’s conclusion was going to be before he started talking to himself. Already rolling up his sleeves, Roman went around to the passenger side of the car. Virgil was still asleep when he opened the door, ready to pick him up. It was only after Roman had looped his arms under Virgil’s knees and pulled him up and out of the car that Virgil stirred.

                “Hey,” Virgil said, his voice a hoarse whisper. He didn’t even open his eyes as he spoke, his head simply lolled against Roman’s shoulder as he grumbled, “I have… a boyfriend.”

                Snorting derisively, Roman gave Patton an amused look from over the car. For the first time in the past few days, Patton smiled. It was small, but in the face of their circumstances, it was better than nothing. Roman made a show of rolling his eyes as he said, “Don’t flatter yourself, Emo Queen. I’ve got my own boyfriend.”

                Virgil let out a longsuffering sigh. “Then put me down, horndog.”

                Patton followed close behind Roman as they went to the house, giving Virgil a sharp look as they followed the front walkway. “Virgil… he’s just helping you inside.”

                “Yeah,” Roman gloated. “You should be _thanking_ me.”

                It was Virgil’s turn to snort before he let out a whispery laugh. “Over my dead body, drama boy.”

                Roman had a _perfect_ comeback for that one… but using it would surely upset Patton. So he stayed quiet as he shouldered his way into the house and laid Virgil on the long, plus sofa. It gave under his weight, creaking lowly in the quiet, heavy air of the house. A brief sigh in a long silence. Virgil’s eyes cracked open, and his bloodshot eyes landed on Roman. They met for a moment, his gray eyes lingering on roman’s face through a haze of – pain? Confusion? Fear? Roman wasn’t sure – before Virgil blinked once. Slow and deliberate. A silent “thank you” that he didn’t want to voice. In response, Roman reached out again, gripping Virgil’s wrist and squeezing it. Just once. Just gently. He wasn’t sure if Virgil could even feel it with the gray-blue tint in his skin staining every part of him. Virgil didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to.

                When Roman stood and watched Logan close and lock the door, Patton came to take his place at Virgil’s side. Roman watched him for a moment, eyeing the way Patton smiled and brushed hair from Virgil’s eyes. Virgil smiled – or perhaps grimaced. It was difficult to tell if he had the energy to really smile – and sighed contentedly.

                “Does anything hurt?” Patton asked, his thumb trailing over Virgil’s cheek. The pad of his fingertip lingered on the dark, straining blood-vessels that marked wiry paths across Virgil’s cheeks. Virgil grunted, a simple, noncommittal response. Frowning, Patton dug through one of the backpacks they had stocked this morning. He produced a water bottle, unscrewing the cap and holding it to Virgil’s lips. “You should drink something. We…” he paused, giving Roman and Logan a baffled look. “We haven’t really eaten all day, have we?”

                Roman pursed his lips, trying to feign surprise as his empty stomach ached painfully. “It’s been a busy day,” he supplied uselessly with a shrug. “I’m sure we’ll find something to eat in the kitchen.”

                Patton wasn’t satisfied with that answer, but he went back to caring for Virgil nonetheless. Or rather, he was attempting to force the water down Virgil’s throat while Virgil pressed his lips together so tightly, Roman could only assume the water was poison. Slipping away from the couple, Roman met Logan at the door. He could see the tense line of Logan’s shoulders through his jacket, and the thousand-yard stare in his eyes as he glared at the front door. Bending forward a little, Roman waved his hand in front of Logan’s eyes, enjoying the baffled flutter of Logan’s eyelashes before he turned to look at him. Roman smiled.

                “Anything you want to share with the class, Mr. Mend?”

                Just like that, Logan was fidgeting again, tugging at the zipper on his jacket and _zip, zip, zipping_ until Roman feared he’d pinch his finger. “We didn’t get the penicillin. We couldn’t even get into the hospital… again.” He looked at Roman, looking more angry than concerned. “We couldn’t get into a hospital _again_.”

                Spreading his hands in surrender, Roman made an apologetic face. “Them’s the breaks, sweetheart. We’ll just have to… I don’t know. Change the plan? Just… look for help?”

                Logan twitched, his gaze flickering over to the sofa where Virgil was trying to deny water. “But… but, Virgil –”

                When Patton managed to get a sip of water past Virgil’s lips, Virgil sputtered and started to choke. He coughed hard, the long, aching raspy coughs that made it sound like he was about to hack up a lung. Either that, or he was about to vomit. Patton panicked, helping him sit up so he could breathe while he apologized repeatedly.

                “I’m sorry! I’m sorry, Virgil, I didn’t mean… I’m sorry,” he rubbed Virgil’s back, his voice trembling as he helped Virgil breathe again. “I’m sorry… I won’t make you drink again. I just… we need to stay hydrated and –”

                Patton continued to ramble, but Roman didn’t listen. He simply stood with Logan, watching the way Virgil gasped for breath. Shallow and wheezing, it was clear that these were Virgil’s last, painful moments of life. Roman frowned. How long did he have? Thirty minutes? An hour? How long could he hold onto life? How long could Patton cling to him, holding him to the land of the living?

                “It’s my fault,” Logan whispered as he leaned against the door. Roman looked at him, confused, before Logan took off his glasses and rubbed his hand over his face. “It’s my fault,” he repeated, “If… if I had found a closer hospital. If I’d… been able to think of the penicillin sooner, I… and now, Virgil…”

                “No. No, no, no.” Roman stepped forward to grab Logan and pull him into a tight, fearful embrace. “Don’t do this. The blame game is never the right way to go. Don’t do that to yourself.”

                Logan’s fists gripped the back of Roman’s coat, holding tight as he whimpered. “I should’ve…! Should have _thought_ of something. A momentary fix, an opportunity…”

                “This isn’t _anyone’s_ fault, Logan,” Roman breathed into Logan’s hair. His normally smooth hair was slick and greasy. He smelled of sweat and fear. They were all a certifiable mess. Roman sighed. “We… we’re all just a victim of circumstance. You can’t just… just sit here and blame yourself. It’s not going to fix anything. It’s just going to make you feel worse.”

                Logan was quiet, almost like he wasn’t quite sure how to respond. As if he didn’t want to acknowledge that he was innocent. Instead, he slid out of Roman’s arms and stowed away into the kitchen. Roman stood frozen and unsure of himself. He wanted to wash away Logan’s pain. He wanted to fix the anxiety that permeated the air. But there was no certain way to make him feel better about their situation.

                What could he say? ‘I’m sorry Virgil is dying, but at least it’s just him and not all of us!’ That wouldn’t go over well. Especially not if Patton was in earshot. So, swinging his fisted hands to and fro, Roman gave Patton and Virgil another long look.

                Virgil had laid back again. Eyes closed. Lips parted slightly around each wispy, rasping breath. Patton leaned into him, holding his hand and pressing his forehead against Virgil’s arm. He was a man of medicine. He knew what was happening. And, more than anyone, Patton knew just how little they could do. Even so, Roman was sure that he would regret anything they _didn’t_ do.

                So, he went through the bathroom cabinets, sorting through shelves until he could find some sort of pain medicine. He returned to Patton with three bottles of medicine that he didn’t recognize, kneeling next to him and handing him the bottles.

                “Not sure if these can help with the pain, but…” he handed Patton the bottle, seeing the flicker of gratitude that glimmered in Patton’s blue eyes. He took the medicine, eyeing the labels and recommended dosages. Virgil was asleep already, his breathing uneasy and shallow as he tried to sleep through the infection. Roman excused himself, sneaking into the kitchen to join Logan at the small, kitchen island. He sat down. Logan didn’t look up. “I… gave Patton some pain meds. I think. Maybe those will help?”

                “Pain medication?” Logan asked, a little incredulous where he had his face in his hands. “Pain medicine does nothing but numb the nerves and distract the brain.”

                Roman shifted on his little barstool, eyeing the refrigerator tiredly. “So… at least he won’t be in pain while he dies.”

                Logan snorted as he shook his head. “What happened to ‘we’ll save him,’ hmm?” he gave Roman a sharp, pained look, but Roman didn’t acknowledge it. He wasn’t ready to bear the weight of Virgil’s death. Not yet. Not like this. He needed more time. They all needed more time to prepare themselves for this. Logan sat forward, leaning into Roman’s space while he said, “What happened to ‘he’s going to live?’”

                “What good is parroting that going to do?” Roman snapped back, finally meeting Logan’s eye. Logan wasn’t glaring. He wasn’t angry, per say. He was scared. He was broken. Roman still couldn’t smother the fire in his stomach as he said, “I told you that to make you feel better. That didn’t magically make it true. We both knew Virgil was on a time-limit,” he paused, took a shuddery breath, and looked at his fisted hands on the counter. “We knew it from the second we figured out he’d been bitten.”

                Logan let out a sigh. Not a tired one. Just a long, disbelieving sigh that almost hurt to hear. “We need to find someplace safe,” he said as he leaned his head against Roman’s shoulder. Roman held still, letting Logan’s thoughts spill out into the air like a long, run-on sentence. “If we can’t find a place with real, living people by tomorrow, I vote that we should start thinking of searching for communication methods.”

                Roman nodded obediently. “Alright.”

                “But if we _do_ find safety – some kind of… War Shelter, perhaps? What will they do about Virgil?” Roman opened his mouth to speculate, but Logan cut him off. “I’m sure they’d distrust him. But what if he’s still alive? Unlikely, but a possibility. Maybe there would be some kind of… quarantine. A quarantine where he could be cared for. Maybe there _is_ a cure being developed, and we don’t even know about it.”

                Roman’s eyelids drooped as he nodded. “A possibility.”

                Logan was still sparking with thought, like a machine that had no off switch. “If they don’t, there’s a possibility that Virgil wouldn’t be allowed into the shelter. If there is one. There’s no guarantee, but if there _were_ , then –”

                “Virgil?” Patton’s voice cut through Logan’s rambling, and Roman sat ramrod straight. He sounded shaken. Like the world had upended right under his feet. Logan tensed. Roman held his breath. They listened as Patton’s world came crumbling around him. “Virgil? Come on… open your eyes. Virgil. Virgil!” Logan buried his face in his hands. Roman let out a long, hissing breath through his nose. Patton began to cry. “Virgil! Please! Please wake up!”

                _Virgil would wake up after some time._

_But he would not be the same man._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *sits up*  
> Oh, hello. Did you think I was dead?
> 
> See you next chapter.


	7. Catch and Release

_“A question to the afterlife: Do the dead grieve the living the same way we grieve them?_

_Or are we alone in this sadness?”_

_– Roman Mend_

+++++

                Roman found himself asleep with Logan that night. Warm and tangled in him as the hours ticked past. He didn’t have the heart to sit with Patton, not with that betrayed, burning pain in his eyes. No, Patton wanted to be alone. Alone with Virgil’s still cold body, holding his hand and petting his greasy hair.

                In all honesty, Roman couldn’t blame him. He knew he’d be just as grieved, just as agonized, if Logan were to die like that. To gasp out his life in a strange place with not so much as a warning. Death, in Virgil’s case, was startling. It wasn’t mundane the way passing normally was. It wasn’t regulated and understood. It was unknown. A timeline that none of them could follow.

                And now... he was gone.

                So Roman laid with Logan, arms wrapped tight around his middle and holding tight. Afraid to lose him, afraid to smother him... desperation was poetic that evening.

                Logan slept fitfully, twisting and tossing as he dreamt. He mumbled in his sleep, nonsensical not-quite-words as his brows knit in thought and confusion. And Roman... he didn’t sleep much. He could only watch the game at Logan twitched and whispered, soft and fearful, in a bed that didn’t belong to them.

                Instead of sleeping, Roman thought of Virgil and his last request; he didn’t want to become one of those mindless wanderers. The ones overcome with the infection were practically zombies, as unrealistic as it sounded... and Virgil didn’t want to become of them. He told Roman to kill him. Smother him, strike him... it didn’t matter. Death was death, after all. However it would came to pass, it would stop Virgil from rising from the grave and hurting them. Most of all: Patton.

                Roman knew that Patton’s safety came first, after all. Virgil loved him... or, had loved him. He wouldn’t want anything to happen to Patton... Virgil was clear about that in every word he spoke and every move he made.

                Which is why, when the clock on the nightstand glowed red with 5:34 stamped on it, and the sun had not yet risen, and Logan lay still and content… when Patton screamed in horror, and the sounds of furniture being toppled sounded in the living room, Roman was not he least bit surprised. He was even prepared, having left his protective baseball bat next to the nightstand for defense. He left Logan where he had jolted upright in bed, alarmed and confused. He ran to the living room where Patton was backed against a wall, shivering and wide-eyed with horror. Roman followed his gaze, and found Virgil standing in the middle of the room.

                His skin was ashen. His eyes were glazed over. His lips were cracked and dry, and they were parted around every gasping, rasping breath. When he stumbled forward, it was uncoordinated. Thoughtless. A simple, jarring, animalistic drive forcing him forward. He was reaching for Patton – to have and hold? To bite him? To change him? Roman stepped in his way, pressing the end of the baseball bat to Virgil’s chest to hold him at bay. Luckily, Virgil’s undead body didn’t have the strength to push past the bat, so he simply leaned against it, hissing and groaning as he brainlessly reached for Patton.

                “Virgil,” Patton whimpered, his eyes watery and his lip trembling. “He’s… he’s not… Virgil, can you hear me?”

                Virgil’s response was a groan as he stepped awkwardly on his right ankle and almost fell to the ground. Roman kept him at arms-length, eyeing Virgil warily as Logan stepped into the room. He looked between the three of them, his gaze landing heavily on Virgil.

                “So… he’s back,” Logan said, his words ringing hollow in the open air. Patton didn’t say anything. Virgil simply continue to push forward, unable to comprehend that he couldn’t get past Roman’s blockade. Logan was immediately set to work, muttering to himself as he stood to the side and out of Virgil’s reach. “Like the others we’ve seen, he isn’t able to comprehend language… or danger.” Logan took out his notebook and started to take notes, and Roman rolled his eyes.

                “Could we… I don’t know, figure out what to do with him _before_ we start logging our traumatic thoughts?” Logan gave him a sharp look, and Roman adjusted his grip on the baseball bat while Patton shimmied along the wall, eager to get out of Virgil’s line of sight. Roman sighed, pushing Virgil back until he could pin the poor, undead man against the wall and keep him there. “I mean… we can’t just let him roam free.”

                Logan was still scribbling in his notebook while he muttered to himself. “Seeing as the infection was most likely passed through body fluids, it can be plausible that we’d be safe as long as he can’t bite any of us. If he did, his saliva would get into our bloodstream and we’d be infected. Unless,” Logan paused and gave Roman a hard look. “It would be the fact that he was simply _touched_ by the infected person. Transferrable viruses can be passed in a number of ways. If it’s an airborne virus, it’s possible that –”

                “If it was airborne,” Patton said stiffly, his medical training kicking in full-force as he gave Virgil a sidelong look. “We would _all_ be afflicted by it. I think transferal by bodily fluids is the closest idea. I mean… I can’t really see how else it would’ve happened.” He paused and touched his upper arm, like he was experiencing a phantom pain, and said, “The only injury he got was a bite. And that was… that was because he was trying to keep _me_ from being hurt.”

                Roman flinched. Patton was at the top of a slippery slope. It was only a matter of time until he stumbled and fell, kicking and screaming, into a pile of guilt and self-blame. Still holding Virgil to the wall, Roman turned to give Patton a considerate look.

                “It’s not your fault, Patton,” he said calmly, ignoring the way Logan averted his gaze and continued to write furiously in his notebook. “You were scared. Hell, we’re _all_ scared. No one can blame you for what you did.”

                Not quite pacified, Patton seemed to shrink into himself, staring down at the floor rather than meeting anyone’s eye. Roman knew that action. He knew Patton was going to blame himself. He couldn’t stop that. It was such a _Patton_ thing to do. Blaming himself for the mistakes of the collective… a martyr without meaning. Roman sighed and looked away, listening to Logan’s thoughtful rambling.

                “We could theoretically let him ride in the car with us,” he said, tapping his pen on his paper thoughtfully. “But if we do, there might be too much risk of him biting or scratching us.”

                Patton twitched where he stood. “Scratching?”

                “Scratching can produce blood. Tainted blood is dangerous. Hence, my hesitation to allow Virgil into the car with us.” Logan paused, gave Virgil a considering glance and narrowed his eyes. “We might be able to put him in the trunk and transport him that way.”

                “Absolutely not!” Patton shouted, making Roman jump where he stood, pushing Virgil back as he hissed and groaned. Regardless of the baffled look Logan gave him, Patton held his ground. “He’s… he’s sick! And if we’re going to get him help, he needs to be safe and in one piece when we get him there! There will be a cure,” he said without a hint of hesitation. “There’ll be a cure, and he’ll be okay… until then, we can’t let him get hurt.”

                Roman pursed his lips. “Would putting him in the trunk _really_ qualify as ‘hurting’ him, though?” He asked, almost amused when Patton sputtered. “I mean… he’d just be curled up in there. He can’t run into any walls or get hit by cars,” that earned him a glare from Logan, but he ignored it. “So, logically, putting him in the trunk would be better than, say, dragging him along by a rope.”

                “A rope!” Patton said, bypassing Roman’s completely logical reasoning. “We could try a rope around his wrist and just… pull him along!” He was smiling now. Wide-eyed and practically vibrating where he stood. Roman arched an eyebrow. Was he serious? He was. Completely serious. He thought they could tote Virgil along like a stray dog. Was this what a mental breakdown looked like? Patton turned in a circle, looking around the room for a piece of chord or rope. “I bet… I bet even a piece of yarn would do the trick?”

                “Patton,” Logan said uneasily. “We can’t… I’m sure that, if done improperly, we would cut through the skin on his wrist. Then he’d bleed out.”

                “He’d be okay,” Patton said as he continued his frantic search through the abandoned house. “He’ll be fine. We just need to bring him along. We just need to bring him, and they’ll cure him, and he’ll… everything will be okay.”

                “They?” Logan repeated, “Who is they?”

                Patton didn’t respond. He just kept looking for a chord that he could tie around Virgil’s wrist. Roman and Logan looked at each other, their eyes catching briefly as Virgil continued to wheeze and groan where he was pressed to the wall. Roman frowned, and Logan shrugged as if to say, ‘What can we possibly do?’ In response, Roman gestured insistently at Patton.

 _Do something,_ He wanted to say. Logan arched an eyebrow, glancing at Virgil. Roman waved him away. _Not Virgil. Do something about Patton._

                He was met with a disagreeable shake of Logan’s head. Roman huffed. “Patton,” he said where he was still holding Virgil at bat-point. “He’ll be fine if we put him in the trunk. He’ll be safe and _we’ll_ be safe. That’s what’s important.”

                “He could hurt himself!” Patton shouted abruptly, his eyes burning as he turned on Roman and glared at him. Roman’s eyebrows shot up. Patton was yelling? At _him_ , of all people? Maybe something was wrong with all of them. Maybe it was a collective mental break. Watching one of your companions die in front of you happened to do that. Trauma in its rawest form. Patton was shaking as he rounded the room, shouting: “He could… could move around back there, hit his head, his arms… he’d hurt himself!”

                “If you put a rope around his wrist,” Logan argued, “It could cut through the flesh. You know that Patton. You _know_ that, so why –”

                It was time for Patton to turn on Logan. “I want him to be safe!” Logan held his hands up in surrender, but Patton wasn’t appeased. “You… you’re both just trying to get me to leave him behind. You want to leave Virgil behind!”

                Roman shifted where he stood, acutely aware of how easily this conversation was getting out of hand. Patton looked like an animal caught in a trap, like he was going to chew off his leg to get free before he let anyone touch him. He stood there, bristling and shaking while Roman glanced back at Virgil. His eyes – once a soulful gray, now a lifeless ashen color – stared right through him. He slumped against the wall, his arms twitching at his sides as he mindlessly tried to move, but couldn’t fight against the meagre force of the bat against his chest.

                In all honesty, Roman would _love_ to leave Virgil behind. They needed to focus on themselves now. Survival of the fittest, wasn’t it? In addition, Virgil had asked Roman to kill him before he turned. So leaving him behind and saving Patton would be an honor to Virgil’s memory.

                But he couldn’t do it.

                Right now, the only thing keeping Patton somewhat sane was the presence of Virgil. Virgil had been his constant through so much; through depression, through his parents’ split up, through his they’d been through the world and its ending. Now what? Leaving him behind wasn’t an option for Patton. They needed to drag him along somehow… and duct-taping him to the roof of the car would probably not be received well.

                Roman’s brain caught up with him as he glanced back at the laundry room. He remembered a piece of a hardware. Something metal. Something that would hold back teeth. Something that would keep Virgil from gnawing on their arms while they slept. Gesturing toward the laundry room, Roman nodded for Logan to check it out.

                “There’s a muzzle,” Roman said softly, watching the way Patton’s eyes flickered between them uneasily. He kept his tone even, like talking down a madman from a bridge as he said, “In the laundry room. If we put it on Virgil… tie his hands together or something… I’m sure we could let him into the car.”

                Logan opened his mouth to no doubt disagree, his dark, blue eyes glinting dangerously as he glanced at Patton. Silence settled on them like snow on an autumn-hot field. Steam rose. No one moved. While Virgil groaned and tried to fight against the bat that held him against the wall, Patton started to vibrate like he might glitch through the floor if no one was watching him.

                Turning to Logan, he shouted, “Go get it!”

                Logan visibly recoiled from the order, taking a few steps away as Patton curled his hands into fists and continued to tremble. Hold his hands up in surrender, Logan’s eyes snapped back to Roman, a desperate cry for help as he glanced back to Patton. Roman couldn’t step away to shield Logan… that would leave Virgil unattended.

                All he could do was stand by and watch as Patton grit his teeth, grabbed the lamp from a nearby table, and wielded it over his head and started to scream, “Go get the damn _muzzle_ , Logan!”

                “Patton! Patton, calm down!” Logan shouted, clearly upset as he stepped away and pressed himself to the wall. “I’ll get it. I’ll go get it!”

                Patton’s hand was still shaking as lowered the lamp. His eyes were still wild, a caged animal where he stood in the place of a man that Roman once knew well. Now he was a stranger with crazy, wide eyes. Taking shuddery breaths, Patton was still gripping the lamp as Logan came back into the room with a dog muzzle hooked over his fingers. Holding it aloft like a hunter showing off his prize, Logan skirted along the edge of the living room until he could gingerly approach Virgil.

                “Take… take his hands,” Logan said evenly. He was shaking where he stood holding the muzzle. Virgil reached for him sluggishly, pale, ashen fingers fumbling at Logan’s sleeve. “Hold his wrists while I put this on.”

                Roman did. He dropped the baseball bat and grabbed Virgil’s wrists. He wheezed and hissed and struggled, but it was hardly enough to make Roman shift his weight to his right foot. While Logan pulled the leather straps taught against Virgil’s mop of dyed, purple hair, Roman watched him.

                He was so scared that he’d be infected, he was _trembling_. Those dexterous, careful fingers were shaking. Hands that could possibly cure cancer. Hands that could possibly change the world. They trembled in a way that Roman had never seen before. Did Logan see what was happening? Did he see that Patton wasn’t the same? Didn’t he see that his own reasoning wasn’t what it used to be? And Roman… had anything changed with Roman? He couldn’t tell yet. Maybe it was only a matter of time. Only a matter of time for all of them to sit and fall apart.

                Taking a deep, shuddery breath, Logan stepped back and admired his handywork. Virgil’s teeth were safe behind a gate of metal. His hands were still available, though. Eyeing those pale, blue-grey hands suspiciously, Roman pressed his lips together tightly.

                “There,” Logan said officially as he glanced back at Patton. Patton, who was still watching Roman and Logan like they were two dangerous criminals who had broken into his house. They weren’t, though. They were his friends. Weren’t they? Logan didn’t look like was sure either when he looked back at Patton. “See? With the muzzle, he’s safe. We’re on your side. We’re _all_ friends here.”

                Patton blinked, and the strange fiery glint in his eyes was gone. After a moment, he smiled oddly. “Of… of course we are. Why… why wouldn’t we be?”

                “Patton,” Roman said evenly, his tone stiff as Patton turned to look at him. “Put down the lamp.”

                Another long, broken pause, and Patton looked at the lamp that was still clutched in his hand. Slowly, Patton set the lamp back down on the table. He looked confused. Like he wasn’t sure what he was doing. As if to cover for the action, he smiled goofily and said, “I’m… not sure why I did that. I’m sorry.”

                “Irrational outbursts of anger,” Logan said aloud as he clicked his pen and made a note of the symptom in his notebook. Patton sputtered a string of syllables that didn’t connect to any words… but there was no solid denial as he stepped forward to grab Virgil’s arm. He gripped that sweatshirt-clad arm so tight, Roman could imagine that it would have left bruises if Virgil’s heart was still beating and his blood was still flowing. Logan kept going, not bothering to look at Patton as he muttered, “Periods of sub-psychotic rage.”

                “Sub… sub-psychotic?” Patton echoed incredulously. “I’m not sure –”

                “Near-violent episodes of paranoia,” Logan continued, his hand quivering a little where he wrote.

                While he scribbled in the tiny book, Roman made sure Patton had Virgil’s hands before he went in search of a zip tie. He found them in kitchen drawer and, per Logan’s direction, he zipped Virgil’s hands together with his sweatshirt sleeves protecting the skin.

                “We need to go,” Roman said as he left Virgil in Patton’s capable, softened hands. Logan looked at him, alarmed, and Roman only frowned at the expression. “We need to get moving. If we want _any_ help… we can’t just sit here, in the middle of nowhere.”

                “A city,” Logan said stiffly as he started to pace. Virgil groaned, but it didn’t interrupt him as he said, “We need to get to a city. In a city, we find help. We find help, we find officials. Officials mean an answer behind all of this.”

                Patton nodded fervently, his hand on Virgil’s shoulder tight as he smiled and said, “Then he’ll be okay!”

                Logan glanced at Roman. “That’s not what we’re saying, Patton –”

                “He’ll be okay,” Patton repeated as he pat Virgil’s shoulder. Virgil wheezed and nearly headbutted Patton as his jaw _snapped_ open and shut. Patton’s eyes got that glossy hint to them again, and he looked far, far away as he grinned hopefully and held Virgil’s elbow. “We’ll find the cure. We just have to find help.”

+++++

                Virgil had been put in the backseat next to Patton. He groaned. He hissed. He breathed in through dead lungs and drove Roman insane. A horror-movie backtrack send on repeat. A corrupt sound file. Television static that was colder than snow and louder than a foghorn. Roman didn’t let Logan drive. He was all over the place. His eyes were glassy and unfocused. He looked around the car oddly, making notes in that damn book like it would save them from this nightmare.

                Watching the horizon, Roman gripped the steering wheel so tightly his fingers went numb. Pins and needles pricked at his legs. The needle on the gas gauge hovered over Empty. They drove, and the road went on… too far, too long.

                More than once, Logan pulled out the map, squinted at it, and frowned at the squiggly road-lines, and folded it back up. He never folded it properly, though. Not the way he usually did. He was always so meticulous. It was odd to see him ignoring the neat and tidy creases of the map. The sun hung drunk in the late-summer sky, highlighting a city on the horizon.

                “Richmond?” Logan had suggested over the uneven shriek of Virgil’s breathing. He looked through the dirty windshield, studiously ignoring the shambling figures that were outline by the edge of the headlights. “Maybe Washington D.C.”

                “You think we’d notice if we’d gotten all the way to D.C.” Patton’s voice was raised just a little to make it clear that he didn’t mind being next to a wheezing, flesh-crazed monster. “Aren’t there road signs?”

                “We didn’t exactly steal a brand-new car, Pat,” snapped Roman, his hands still holding the wheel too hard. “The lights aren’t that great. It’s a little hard to see the fucking road signs. Especially the ones that weren’t knocked down by bomb.”

                “There’s no proof it was a bomb,” Logan said stiffly.

                “Oh-ho? Then what was it, Smart Guy?” Roman asked, too tired to keep the edge from his voice. And Logan… Logan didn’t answer him.

                He frowned at the oncoming cityscape. There should’ve be more lights. In the fast-approaching dusk, there should have been more lights. Were lights down all over the eastern seaboard? It might be possible. The explosion was impressive… and it fielded the gaseous attack that turned everyone into mindless not-zombies. Frowning a little, Roman narrowed his eyes at the city; if the lights were done, did that mean the entire city was infected?

                Part of him wanted to stop. Part of him knew they didn’t have that luxury. Regardless of that fact, the car started to make an unhappy puttering sound. The engine continued to grind, and though Roman pushed his foot down on the gas, the car slowed. They were officially out of gas, and as he pulled to the side of the road, the old Sedan heaved a last, mighty groan… and the lights flickered out.

                “Well,” Roman said, trying to ignore the discomforting silence that settled over them. “Richmond or D.C…. looks like we’re walking.”

                “In the middle of the night,” Logan said, his tone dark and unimpressed. Patton leaned forward between the front seats, looking between the two of them oddly, and Logan leaned away. “We should find shelter and continue when it’s light outside.”

                “The day went fast,” Patton said idly as he grabbed Virgil’s hands and kept them from grabbing at his pants. Virgil hissed, clearly displeased by this deterrent, but Patton didn’t mind it. “It’s like… I don’t know. We missed a big chunk of the day or something. It went too fast.”

                “The majority of our morning was spent keeping Virgil from _eating_ you,” Logan said as he unbuckled his seatbelt and got out of the car. “It went fast because we’re all in shock and unable to keep track of what we’re doing.”

                Roman followed his lead, opening the back door of the car and dragging Virgil out on the tarmac. Virgil’s legs crumbled beneath him – could he really be expected to walk on decaying legs? – and Roman needed Patton’s help to get him back upright. Well, as close as they could get him to upright. He was leaning, really. Kind of like a junkie getting ready to lean over a table. Roman watched Virgil as he shuffled forward without grace. He stumbled… and then fell face-first back onto the asphalt.

                They all heard the crack of bone against ground.

                “Virgil!” Patton cried, racing to his side. Virgil didn’t cry out. He didn’t even flinch at the coagulated blood that started to flow, thick and clotted, down his face. He just continued to wheeze and hiss and groan as he fumbled for Patton, trying to bite him through the muzzle. There was a glassy look in his eye, one that changed him… but Patton didn’t see it. It was sad that he couldn’t see it. Not even his nurse-training kicked in. He simply brushed Virgil’s hair from his eyes and smiled down at him. “Are you okay? You’re okay… it’s okay. Just a little fall. You’re okay.”

                Logan was still by the car, his hands clenching and unclenching as he glanced at the simple, suburban homes that surrounded them. Shapes of infected people could be seen wandering through the shadows. If they kept in the open, they’d be surrounded in minutes. He looked to Roman.

                “We should get inside.”

                “Brilliant idea,” Roman said with sarcastic brightness. He indicated to the decimated houses around them with a wide sweep of his arm. “Which house would you like? I hear the one on the corner has a jacuzzi.”

                “I want a shower,” Patton said idly, like the world wasn’t crumbling around them. He glanced at Roman… and smiled. It seemed hazy, like Patton had been drinking and giggling only moments before. “I feel really grimy… I bet Virgil would like a shower, too.”

                Pausing, Roman sighed. “Yeah. Yeah, a shower would be nice. Let’s find a place to stay first… and we’ll see what we can do.”

                Roman and Logan watched carefully, keeping an eye on Virgil with every step they took. If one wasn’t looking, the other was surely monitoring the status of their former friend. Even if he had a muzzle, he was still a threat. There was a chance that Patton, in all his deranged glory, would try to remove the muzzle. Then they would all be in trouble.

                Even as they stopped for the night, finding an empty house with lockable windows and doors, they watched Virgil carefully. They’d tied a worn, fabric belt around his waist and the other end to a load-bearing post in the living room. He shuffled in circles, wandering as far as his little leash would let him. He moaned and wheezed, each breath labored and heavy as he aimlessly stumbled.

                “No running water,” Logan said aloud as he watched Virgil bump into a wall and turn to shuffle the other way. Roman hummed, and Logan took off his glasses to rub his eyes tiredly. “No running water, no fresh food, no electricity… no phone service.”

                “No diggity,” Roman supplied. That earned him a slap to the arm. Neither of them laughed.

                “We need to get help,” Logan said quickly, like he was trying to side-step Roman’s attempt at comedy. He watched Virgil hiss and reach for them, but with the belt holding him back, he could only lazily swipe in their direction as they sat, safe and discomforted, five feet away from him. “Patton is… well, he’s not himself.” Roman hummed, and Logan went on. “Have you been experiencing any… symptoms?”

                Lacing his fingers together, Roman gave Logan a considering look. “I’m not going around swinging lamps at people, am I?”

                “No, but that’s not the point. The gas… the infection, it doesn’t seem to have a set limit. I mean, look at Virgil,” he indicated to Virgil’s wheezing, stumbling form. “He’s disobeying the laws of our organic bodies. He _should_ be dead. But there he is, trying to attack us.”

                Roman blinked slowly, casting a heavy glance at the sofa where Patton was sleeping upon. He didn’t know they were having his conversation; it was probably a good thing. If he knew they were talking about him, he’d get upset again. It was strange, seeing Patton like that. It was like watching a crazy person wearing a mask with Patton’s face on it parading around and swinging a lamp like it was a sword.

                “So, what are you trying to say?” Roman asked eventually. Logan fiddle with his glasses, pinching the bent frames and frowning at the cracked lenses.

                “I’m saying,” he said, “That the symptoms could be _anything_. We could _all_ be infected.”

                Roman didn’t say anything. It would explain the way Logan’s logic was starting to fail him. He was usually off and spouting theories and solutions… now, it was like his brain was wading through a lake of molasses, struggling to reach the other side as he stared straight-ahead, tired and stuck on a one-way track. Giving him a sidelong glance, Roman reached out to put a hand on Logan’s thigh. He squeezed it, but Logan didn’t smile. His eyes were stuck on the far wall, like there was a riddle written there, and he _needed_ to solve it. But there was nothing but cracked plaster. Roman sighed.

                There was sparkling intellect in Logan’s mind. An untapped resource of burning intelligence that would readily spout ideas and thoughts if he was asked. His urgency to explain his experiments and enthusiasm when it came to the stars and chemistry… it was what drew Roman in. It’s what made him want to _know_ Logan. Someone with a brain like that… they were always worth knowing. Even if it was just an acquaintanceship. But that’s not where it had ended for them.

                Roman fell hard and fast for this man, this blinding storm of sarcasm and wit. He fell for the glint in Logan’s eyes when he smiled, the way he wore a tie in casual situations, the shake in his shoulders when he laughed… he fell for the sigh on Logan’s lips when he was taken to bed, the baffled flutter of his eyelashes when Roman kissed him, and the tremble of his hands when they were knotted together, all quick breaths and sweat-slick skin. He fell for Logan _because_ of Logan… but now, it was like the love of his life was slipping away. Logan was fading in the background of this tragedy. His eyes were far, his tie was crooked, and he didn’t dare to laugh. Logan was gone.

                The man that was left was a puppet with its strings cut. An empty shell of what Logan used to be. He was infected. He was infected, and there was nothing they could do about it. It was only a matter of time until they discovered all of the side-effects.

                Would they all become like Virgil? Would they die a slow, agonized death like him? Would they fade just as fast once it set into their bloodstream? He didn’t know. He didn’t _want_ to know. He left his hand on Logan’s thigh, holding him to the world as Roman tried to reign in his fears. The world was slipping away beneath them, and it left Roman a little dizzy where he sat. Or was that the infection? He couldn’t tell.

                After a long, quiet moment – as quiet as it could be with Virgil’s labored breathing in the background – Logan put a hand over Roman’s and squeezed it. It was a little comfort in the face of their reality. Leaning into Roman a bit, Logan sighed and dropped his head onto Roman’s shoulder. They watched Virgil walk, their eyes more than a little tired as they let the night slip past them.

                They were all infected in some way or another… whether or not they could be cured, that was the real question.

+++++

                Twisting a bit, Roman glanced over his shoulder at Patton and Virgil. They were following along with all the determination of a drunk man stumbling toward the bar for another drink. There wasn’t much conviction in their movements, but Roman couldn’t exactly fault them. They couldn’t even walk in a straight line, especially with the way Virgil stopped and tried to grab the animals in the underbrush. If Patton wasn’t there to grab his wrists and tempt him onward, Virgil would probably try to eat those rats and squirrels raw. Roman looked away.

                Next to him, Logan walked quietly. He seemed listless again, like the cut on his head had given him a concussion much, much worse than what they had expected. The bandage on his brow was still dark with blood, dangerous in its knowledge, and heavy with meaning. Roman had tried to take Logan’s hand more than once, but they’d slipped away time after time, trying to keep Patton from coddling Virgil and taking off the muzzle.

                They’d been walking for nearly an hour after they’d left the safety of the house in which they’d stayed the night. The sky was pink for only a fraction of that time, a faint blush of the morning before it settled into the comforting blue of an untroubled blue sky. To all outward appearances, it seemed like a normal day. Like nothing was wrong with the world and they were on a long hike along a big, empty road. They knew better than to assume the best. Four days in this madness was enough to put them all – and by all, it meant Logan and Roman – on edge.

                With heavy hearts, they walked past several stumbling people who were infected. They skirted around them in wide arcs, leaving plenty of distance between them as they moved on. They infected people weren’t especially fast. The movements were too slow and jerky, and a brisk pace was all they needed to avoid them. With the addition of Virgil’s condition, however, they were considerably slowed down. This resulted in Roman knocking down the infected people more than once to leave them enough room to get along. Most of the people stumbled off the road and back into the ditch from whence they crawled, and Roman didn’t mind.

                None of them minded, really. It was a numbing sensation. Was it the infection, or just apathy that overcame them? Roman could hope for the former, but it almost seemed masochistic at this point.

                Every now and then, Logan would pull out his notebook and write something down, like it was imperative information that needed to be noted for posterity. Roman never said anything. It was a quiet progression as they slowly but steadily approached the city before them.

                At that moment, Logan had been looking down at his notebook as he walked… and then he stopped, looking up with a strange expression. Roman stopped with him, trying to see why his brow furrowed in that particular way. Like someone had left their cellphone on at the cinema and the ringtone had interrupted an important scene. But there was no movie theater, and there were no cell phones ringing.

                “Do you hear that?” Logan said, his eyes scanning somewhere above and beyond Roman’s head. Roman blinked, glancing around awkwardly. He heard the crunch of the asphalt under their feet. He heard Logan’s voice. He heard Virgil’s rasping breathing, and Patton’s slightly-deranged humming. What else was there to hear? Instantly, Logan’s eyes snapped to a specific direction, holding as his eyes went wide. “There it is. Can you hear it?”

                “Sounds like a car,” Patton said, his voice trembling with excitement. He let go of Virgil’s wrist, stepping forward to search the road ahead of them like he could somehow see the oncoming vehicle. There was nothing to be seen. Roman made a face and waved his hand over his ear; he heard the air go past it. He could still hear… but what noise was he missing? What _wasn’t_ he hearing? Patton’s smile lit up his expression as he glanced at Logan and shook his arm. “Do you think they’re coming to help us?”

                “Not a car,” Logan said, shaking his head. “But there is a hum to it.”

                Patton nodded, and Roman started to feel a sick feeling in his gut. He didn’t _hear_ it. “Too choppy to be a car, I guess,” Patton answered. He blinked, and then he and Logan looked skyward. “A helicopter!”

                Spinning on his heel, Roman looked up to see that a helicopter was, indeed, in the distance. It was following the I-95 like it was searching for something. Maybe survivors. Or maybe it was just looking for how much of the state had been devastated by the explosion. Regardless of the unknowns, Patton started to run and jump for attention.

                “Here! We’re here! Help!” He jumped and screamed and waved his arms… it was a sight that gave Roman sickening flashbacks of how Virgil got bitten in the first place. Patton had been running and calling for help… how long ago was that? Three days? Four? It felt like a lifetime ago. Time was slipping together and leaving him a little more than confused as he watched Patton shout until his voice was hoarse.

                “Patton, calm down! They’re already coming this way,” Logan said as he gestured to the highway. “They’re following the road. They’re bound to see us.”

                “They’ll pick us up,” Patton smiled with that wide, strange smile as he spoke, all high-pitched and hysterical as tears started to stream down his face. “We’ll be safe! They’ll… they’ll fix Virgil. He’ll… he’ll be okay and… oh, god, we’re going to be okay. We’re gonna be okay!”

                He latched himself onto Logan, holding him close and laughing with disbelief as Logan stumbled back and nodded shakily. Logan himself didn’t look like he believed it. He looked dizzy, and Roman could only guess it was his head injury acting up. After several long seconds of watching the helicopter approach, Roman could finally hear the steady buzz of the blades cutting through the air. He heard the hum of the engine. He heard Patton start to call for them… and he glanced back to see that Virgil had slipped off the road and tumbled down into the ditch. His ankle was _not_ supposed to be turned that way.

                While Patton and Logan started to flag down the helicopter, Roman took a step back and slowly lowered himself into the ditch. Virgil was struggling in the dirt, but with his wrists bound, he wasn’t really able to claw his way back to his feet. So he simply wriggled like a caught animal, snarling and wheezing as he tried to snap at Roman’s ankles.

                “Yeah, yeah, you’re super ferocious,” Roman deadpanned as he got grabbed Virgil under his armpits and dragged him up from the dirt. Virgil made no move to help; not that he could. It should be documented for posterity that Virgil _did_ turn his head and try to chew on Roman’s hand. All he accomplished was rubbing the skin on his cheek raw by chafing against the muzzle. Like Virgil could understand him, Roman snapped, “ _Stop_ that. Patton likes your face. You’re gonna wreck it.”

                If Virgil had been able to construct an answer, Roman didn’t hear it. The wind beat harshly down on them as the helicopter started to descend. Sounds got hazy after that – the muffled sound of a voice, the scream of the wind against his ears – and Roman started to lose his grip. It was a sheer drop off the highway into this stretch of dirt. He hadn’t eaten a proper meal in _days_. His arms trembled, the helicopter touched-down, and Roman slipped and tumbled back down into the ditch after Virgil.

                When he managed to get back onto his hands and knees, he looked up into the barrel of an assault rifle. A soldier in full-body armor was screaming at him. His mouth was shaping around words. Roman couldn’t hear over the sound of the helicopter blades whipping through the air. He glanced up, saw Logan and Patton being manhandled. They were being patted-down… searched for weapons. One soldier indicated to Logan’s head injury, and he simply looked confused by the questioning.

                Roman didn’t get to play tourist very long as the soldier stepped forward and pressed the barrel of the gun to his chest. Falling back, Roman raised his hands in surrender. The soldier paused, made a face, and then pointed to his own ear. His mouth moved around the words again. A question. Roman could only shake his head frantically.

                “I can’t… I can’t hear you! What did you say?”

                This was more than enough for the soldier. He lowered his gun and looked down at Virgil where he still struggled in the dirt. He stared for a moment, long and pitying, before he held a hand out to Roman. Roman took it, and he was dragged back onto the road.

                Logan ran to him immediately, holding his glasses to his face as he said something.

                “What?” Roman shouted over the wind. Logan said it again, slower this time… and even though Roman tried to hear it, the sounds were heedlessly out of his grasp. He indicated to his ears, pointing out their disuse, before gesturing to the unending noise of the helicopter. “ _What?”_

                “ _Get in_ ,” Logan’s lips said as he gestured to the plane. Roman couldn’t hear it, but he could read the words with Logan’s insistent gesturing. “ _They want us to get in._ ”

                Patton, of course, struggled with these instructions. He fought tooth and nail, going wild and feral like he had the day before, kicking and screaming as he tried to go back to Virgil. Virgil who was still bound and stuck in the dirt. Virgil whose ankle was badly broken though he couldn’t feel it. Virgil who had suffered the brunt of the infection and was now being left behind for his efforts.

                Roman got into the helicopter. A different soldier sat him down and helped him strap into the seat. A pair of headphones were put over his ears… and most of the sound from the helicopter was muffled. He heard heavy breathing in the headphones, though he wasn’t sure if it was his own breathing or the sound of the other soldiers trying to subdue Patton. Logan sat next to him, reaching out to grasp his hand and hold tight as he closed his eyes… and refused to open them.

                Patton continued to kick. He screamed. He reached blindly for Virgil. He cried. He attacked the soldiers. He wasn’t even surprised when one of them pulled out a small device from their pocket, jammed it into the exposed skin of Patton’s neck, and let him go limp in their arms. A tranquilizer, probably. If he were lucky. No matter the method, they had managed to quiet Patton. He was slung over the shoulder of one soldier who ducked low to put him in the helicopter.

                This was all done with discomforting practice. Routine reconnaissance. Like they had practiced this drill many, many times before. Had they? Had they been ready for this sub-apocalypse? Had they been warned and made aware of the dangers before anyone in the public had even heard the softest whisper of the danger? Probably. The government loved to keep secrets from the public. It was the wonder of the American system.

                When the helicopter lifted off the ground, Logan’s hand gripped Roman’s so hard his fingers went a little numb. He didn’t dare to pull away, though. Especially not when Logan leaned over to hide his face in the crook of his neck. Immediately, the skin of his neck started to get wet. He didn’t say anything about the tears, though. He simply stared ahead, blind and tired as the soldiers spoke among themselves, loud and clear in the headset over his ears.

                “Hey,” one soldier shouted over the wind, waving a hand in front of Roman’s face. He blinked, lifting his head to give the woman a dazed look. She smiled at him, like a mother comforting a distraught child. “You’re okay now. We’re taking you into D.C.” She paused, maybe waiting for a response, before she gestured to Logan. “Is he okay?”

                “Doesn’t like flying,” Roman said shakily. Logan shuddered against his shoulder, sniffling as he held Roman’s hand with both of his. Trying to distract from the pressure, Roman met the soldier’s eye again. “What happens in D.C.?”

                “You’ll be transferred to a holding facility. We don’t know if you’ve been exposed to the virus.”

                They had. Roman made no move to say otherwise. The soldier probably knew this and went on. “Your friend will be put in his own cell. Pretty violent. Is he always like that?”

                “No,” Roman replied sadly. “He’s… he’s never like that. It just happened. I think it’s the shock.”

                The soldier nodded, though she looked far from convinced. “You kids are lucky you made it this far.”

                Roman nodded to Logan, watching the way the soldier’s eyes flicked to him questioningly. “He’s the brains. Told us not to breathe in the gas. It was a miracle we made it to the car.”

                Again, she nodded. “Smart. A few seconds of breathing that stuff, you’d be crazy. A solid minute, and you’d be dead.”

                Roman swallowed thickly; so, it _was_ the gas that made Patton so violent. It was probably behind the paranoia as well. Now he was strapped to a stretcher behind their seats, tied down and restrained for his own safety.

                Like a sickly afterthought, Roman licked his lips and said, “Our friend… our friend was infected by one of those… things. What… what’s going to happen to him?”

                With a long, careful thought, the soldier looked to her fellow men-in-arms before she said, “For now, the government is rounding up any and all infected people we find. Corralling them is pretty simple.”

                Roman nodded; it made sense with how few people were out and wandering the roads. It had been an uncanny sort of quiet. Now it made sense… but it came through with a tacky aftertaste. “So… you’re just putting them all together? Where?”

                “Several different pens have been set up along the infection zone.”

                She gave no specific locations. Gave no dimensions. Just… pens? Like wild animals? Like prisoners? Virgil would be corralled into a strange, fenced world and held… for how long?

                “Is there a vaccine?” Logan asked, lifting his head just a bit to look at the soldier. His eyes were red and puffy. His voice was hoarse and hardly audible over the headphones. The soldier was quiet. Logan frowned and his eyes narrowed imperceptibly. “Is there any cure in process?”

                “We’re doing everything we can,” the soldier said carefully, “To contain the damage—”

                “But what will happen to all the people who have been infected?” Logan pressed, his tone strained. Roman held his breath, hoping for _something_ more than a misdirect. The soldier clothed her mouth, her jaw visibly working under the strap of her helmet. Logan leaned forward as far as he could with the seatbelts holding him back. “What is going to happen to _us_?”

                Another long, knowing pause, and the soldier said, “You are going to be taken to a medical facility. You will be observed until it can be verified that you haven’t been infected.”

                Those words were practiced, as if she was reading from a cue-card where she sat frowning at them from across the helicopter. There was so much more information than what she was giving them… but Roman doubted she was willing or able to hand them over. Privileged information was difficult to pry from the hands of anyone in the know… even more so when it came to biological warfare.

                Like she needed to drive the point home, the soldier leaned forward and waited until Roman met her eye. “You are going to be taken to a secure, medical facility. You will be held until your immune systems are cleared. Do you understand?”

                Roman hesitated, thinking of how Virgil would _not_ be taken in. he would be ignored. Left to rot in that ditch and unable to stand back up or defend himself. He would be left to have the infection ravage his system. Would it get worse? Was that possible?

                With a soft, tired sigh, Roman nodded. Just like the infected people being corralled into pens, they were going to be locked up in a medical facility. They might not be let go. They might be held indefinitely, caged in for the rest of their natural lives. Roman wasn’t sure which option was better, to be free and susceptible to being attacked by the Infected, or safe and locked away by persons unknown.

                The soldier waited, still watching him as Roman lifted his head to nod again. “We understand.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *dusts dirt and dried blood off my jacket*  
> Hello.
> 
> See you next chapter.


End file.
